Chaos Can Ensue
by Ghostly Green
Summary: Willow Daelin is known for her hatred of reality and the boundaries it creates for her. What happens when her hated, but perfect world rips at the seams? Chaos. Willow is then thrown into the world of magic where she finds acceptance and... love.
1. Reality

A/N: Hello! This is my first story on fanfiction, and I hope to do a good job! I'm really sorry if some of the characters go OOC, but I'll try not to! I'd love to get some reviews and some faithful readers; it's a real push to keep writing. I've been trying to decide how to write this story for a while, and I've put a lot of thought into the plot and into each character I create or use (from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books), so I'm really trying very hard. Please, read and enjoy! The beginning has nothing to do with Harry Potter, really, so it may seem a bit slow, but I'm trying to introduce Willow, her life, why she is the way she is, and her attitude towards life and other people, including herself. It's necessary to set up a firm beginning, don't you think? Anyways, here's the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, nor the song "Dust In The Wind" by Kansas.

_Prologue_

It's amazing how a simple sunset can make you feel, how the images of beauty seem to warm you from your fingertips right down to the tips of your toes. I had always loved watching the sun set; I had the perfect view. I would watch atop a small hill every night, seeing the blueness of the water brighten and fade into a soft gold-orange color. The mountains on the other side of the water would darken into shadows, their outlines clear and distinct against the bright setting sun. The sky would slowly fade back, as I turn and face the west, from a dark red to a yellow, and, every so slowly, change into a light blue. One star, often to the south, would be visible in the light-blue sky, flickering on and off like a light bulb unwilling to die. From there, the sky fades to a deep, dark blue, the kind you can barely breathe in, the kind of blue you could swallow yourself whole in, and finally, _black_. Stars in the blackness appear from all over, flickering, twinkling; often caught laughing. I hear their voices in the wind, whispered words, hidden giggles, and silent smiles. A wind from the east blows and, shivering, the shawl is pulled quite close, like icing is pressed upon a cake. Suddenly, without warning, darkness envelops all, suffocating, strangling, contracting, gripping you tightly. The sun is gone and you're left in the cold dark. The sky is a giant blind-fold with little stars cut out, little beings of light to smile down. And though the cold air bites at your nose and your ears, gnaws and freezes your hands, numbs your thoughts with it, a grin will still break out. You close your eyes, memorizing every detail until you bleed with it, its magic still fresh, so strong about you that you can barely breathe. You're lifted higher, spinning out of control, until you fall flat on the soft earth...

These are my thoughts.

And with that last thought, and with the sky as a blanket, I close my eyes and sleep.

_Chapter 1: Reality_

It is the most hated word in all of the human languages. Without us even realizing it, we let that word morph into a supreme being who tells us what's real and what's not. It decides our beliefs and creates our boundaries, deciding what we can and cannot do. After awhile, it attacks us, destroying our concept of magic or believing in the unknown. Then it goes for something more precious; our childhood and our innocence. It closes in and suffocates, sucking us dry of the thoughts that there might be more. Life shouldn't be this way, we were meant to live for so much more than this. I have to escape reality.

I've been bullied my whole life to "let things go," to "get my head out of the clouds," and to (quite simply) "GROW UP!" But I don't want to grow up. I like to dream of magic and adventure, to imagine and believe in a world so unlike out own. People say, "Life is an adventure." To that, I have to laugh. An adventure? This life? Whoever said that must be reading the wrong books.

"Willow?" I heard my mother call. Sighing, I stood up, letting the breeze blow my hair from my face. Yet again, I had been sitting atop my favorite hill, about a quarter of a mile from my house, if I took the shortcut through the woods, anyways. The hill was more like a small cliff, covered in grass all the way down, and I would sit atop, staring at the trees below as the entire land around it is covered in forest. My hill faces a strait (a body of water with land on either side while connected to a larger body of water; a channel) and the dark mountains on the other side. We lived pretty far away from the rest of the town, which was fine with me. City lights, or even the simple lights of Suburbia cloud out the stars and darken the moon. You can see everything when you're alone.

"Willow?" I heard again. Rolling my eyes, I tucked my black hair behind my ears and took off for home. I was running through the woods at top speed, dodging the same branches I had been dodging for the past 12 years. I had discovered the hill as a four year-old, running from my father. He was yelling at me when suddenly he... anyways, I hid there until he calmed down and since then, it's been my own private spot. I take too many twists and turns for them to follow me anyways; over fallen logs, through sticker bushes, and now that I've found a shorter route, a 10 ft. wall, or mini cliff. Speaking of which, I need to climb over it. I leapt from the top of the small cliff and onto my rope, which I had tied to a thick tree branch from above. I swung to the ground and landed. It was but a moment later that I began running again. I climbed over the fallen trees and climbed up a tree, jumping to the next on and the next one to avoid the sticker bushes below. After that, I jumped to the ground and sprinted out of the woods. There was a burst of sunlight as I left the forest and I squinted.

"Willow! There you are." My mother exclaimed. I shielded my eyes and saw her walking towards me. "Come help me with dinner, and then you can go back to your secret place." She said, rolling her eyes at my 'childish behavior'. I laughed.

My mother was a beautiful woman. I often compared her with a wood nymph; she certainly reminded me of one. She had mischievous, twinkling, green eyes and fiery red hair with natural blonde streaks. She was petite with a thin, pointed face and dark, tan skin. She had a rosebud mouth, with the corners always tilted up in a hidden smile. With a nymph-like appearance such as that, it was no wonder to me how I got the name Willow.

"Honey?" She asked, concerned. I blinked twice, pulled out of the clouds. Grumbling, we walked back to the house, complaining about the dry weather. "It's killing all of my flowers!" Mother moaned. I chuckled; how like a nymph.

The grass was a deep springy green and the sky was a bright blue with a few thin, vapor-like clouds. The sun shone brightly, laughing merrily at the earth as it heated it. I sighed, wishing that something, anything, would happen in my life. I was living the same day over and over again, day in and day out... It wasn't much of a life. I hated it.

We walked up a small slope and there sat our small cottage. It boldly faced the world below our high peak on the middle of the Lone Mountain. The town in the valley between the Lone Mountain and the Abenfolly Mountain Range hustled and bustled with loud noises I could not hear, foul car fumes rising that I could not smell, and the activities of the people below of which I could not see. People say that I'm quite peculiar and blame mother for it, saying that keeping me away from the "healthy society" was the problem. I decided long ago that I'd rather be peculiar than boring like the rest of them. Our small town of Scottsdale was fully of nosy, gossiping people who were without true thoughts or interesting lives, and for that I pity them. To be completely devoid of actual, philosophical, or insightful thought is—

"Moira!" A sickeningly sweet and loving voice called. I looked up, losing my train of thought, seriously annoyed. "Moira my angel, my love! Come here!" My mother giggled and ran to the front door of the cottage, jumping onto Ren.

Ren is my stepfather and I hate him. He's never hit me, yelled at me, or abused me physically or psychologically (at least, he hasn't yet, but I believe it's only a matter of time). He cooks great food, cleans up the cottage, and has never tried to follow me out to my secret spot. He cares for my mother, loves her, and treats her with respect. You ask why I hate him? Maybe because he talks to me like I'm three years old. Or maybe it's because he's lived here since I was 7 and still messes up my middle name. Or maybe it's because he thinks he's my father. Or maybe—

"Hey Willy!" He called. I winced. "Come on in the house! It's getting late and I'd hate for you to get sick from the cold!" He put my mother down and kissed her. He mimed a very cold person, shivering and rubbing his hands up and down his arms for warmth, and then broke into a grin and waved me into the house. "Besides, I made pasta!" He finished in a singsong voice. I slogged into the cottage and rubbed my temples. "Willy, will you help your mom set up the table?" I gritted my teeth; I hated it when he called me 'Willy'.

"Whatever, Ren." I rolled my eyes with a sigh and walked to the cupboard. My mother grabbed my arm and turned me around as I opened it.

"Willow, I wish you would stop calling him 'Ren' and start calling him 'dad'. He's been a father to you since you were 7, and you _still_ don't treat him with an ounce of respect!" I sighed and tried to turn away again, but she held me there. Her green eyes flashed dangerously. "I believe the correct response to his request is 'Yes dad, I'd be happy to help.'" I stared. She nodded, trying to get me to. I raised an eyebrow and snorted.

"Don't worry about it Moira, she's only a kid. Besides, I say we get on with the dinner! It smells deeeeeee-licious! I'm starving!" He said, rubbing his stomach enthusiastically. He and my mom laughed. I went into a small coughing fit with a pained look on my face, and spit in the sink.

"Willow, what was that?" Mother asked in a cautious tone, anger edging into her voice. I smirked.

"Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little." Moira and Ren didn't get it, but I still gave a dervish snort and laughed softly to myself.

Finally, I returned to the cupboard and pulled out three plates and three glasses. Setting them on the table, I grabbed three forks from the drawer. As I finished setting the table, Ren brought out a large crock-pot holding the pasta. He opened it and the room was filled with its good smells; I kept my face blank, only scowling when I came close to smiling from the rich aroma of his tangy pasta sauce. Mother served up the food onto each plate. I ate in silence while mother and Ren talked.

"...The man was _completely_ out of control, raving and yelling like a lunatic. So I pulled him aside and said, 'Mister, you better calm down and rationally explain the problem to me. If you don't, then you can wait outside of my office until you're willing to! No need to make a spectacle of yourself!'" My mother smiled at him proudly and brushed a tendril of his dark brown hair away from his face. I stopped paying attention to my food and watched them, disgusted.

"You handled it beautifully, darling." I sat there, trying to ignore them. I wasn't really eating; I was just kind of pushing the pasta around on my plate. Mother noticed. "Willow, eat your food; stop playing with it." I scowled at her. I hated being home.

"Relax Moira, she's just a kid. She'll start eating like a young lady before you know it... and then she'll be off to college and all grown up..." He trailed off, staring at me with watery, pale blue eyes. "She's growing up so fast, Moira. We've got to treasure the simple moments like these. In a couple of years, you'll wish our little Willow Anne (I cringed) was still playing with her food."

I stared at him in disgust. Did he just say "our" Willow? As in, I was his daughter? And he messed up my middle name, again! I turned to my mother, praying for some sanity from her. Sadly enough, I found none. She stared back at me, tears welling up in her eyes and she nodded to Ren.

"You're right," She said softly. "Oh Ren darling, thank you for putting into the right perspective for me." I wrinkled my nose and scrunched up my eyes in a confused glare, my mouth partly open in surprise.

"First of all, my name is Willow _En_, not **Anne**. Second of all, I'm not your daughter and you're not my father, _Ren_. Third of all, I'm 16 years old! I'm not a child!" Mother slammed her hand down on the table.

"Go to your room." She said quietly. I stood up, pushing my chair back hard, and walked to my room. I grabbed my acoustic guitar (which was in it's soft case) and hung it on my back, turned around, and walked out the front door. "Willow En Daelin! I told you to go to your room!"

"I _did_ go!" I shouted. "But now I'm leaving!" I slammed the big blue door shut and ran down to the forest. Father had only painted it blue because I begged him; blue was my favorite color when I was three.

Realizing that I wouldn't be able to get through the sticker bushes and up the little cliff with my guitar (without damaging it through the soft case), I turned right instead of left when I got to the forest. I was going to take the long way through the woods.

I wound my way through the trees quickly, in case Mother or Ren was trying to follow me. I reached a clearing with a huge oak tree dead center. Carved onto the tree was a large cross, but only I knew why the cross was there; it would help me find my way to my secret place. I knew because I had carved it there 5 years ago when I was 10 and a half. It was a few months before my birthday and I wanted to explore the woods. When I round this tree, I pulled out my pocketknife and carved the cross as a place-marker.

If you were to move forward from the cross, you'd find yourself at the edge of a much larger, much higher cliff than the one I sat at. If you were to turn right, you'd find a fast moving creek, and beyond that, the thorn fields. Those stretched for miles and miles... there was a large arch-shaped opening in the 20 ft. high thorn wall. Were you to move forward into it, you would find yourself at a fork. Taking the left fork will seem the safest route because it's wider than the right one, but it was much worse than the right fork. Eventually, the left fork path would grow narrower, ever so slightly, and soon you would find yourself surrounded by thorns, not able to remember where you came in from. It took me three hours to get myself of out that mess. The right fork, on the other hand, would lead to a small clearing. Pointless, but less dangerous than the left fork.

From the cross, if you were to turn left, you'd find a bog, and unless you knew the right path through, you'd either leave looking or smelling awful... or you wouldn't leave at all.

I turned left at the cross and myself in the stinky swamp. I managed to jump from rock to rock, a path straight through the bog, without slipping once. I moved on, jumping over the 4 ft. wide crevice, through some bushes, over a fallen log, and there was my secret place. I put my guitar case on the ground and opened it, pulling my acoustic guitar out.

I've been playing guitar since I was about 4, under Mother's teaching. We started slow learning the basic notes and chords, followed by scales. It took a lot of practice before I could slide from chord to chord without any problem, or being able to switch from part of a scale to a chord. Then, she taught me how to read and write tablature. Writing tab was a lot harder than reading it, I discovered. After that, she taught me how to play riffs, add distortion, and how to ear-read the different solos and chords that she would play or we would listen to. I learned how to "Travis Pick" and how to play even faster than I already was. Now that I play hours on end each day, Mother and I can't decide who is better.

"_I close my eyes_

_Only for a moment_

_And the moment's gone_

_All my dreams_

_Pass before my eyes a curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind_

_Same old song_

_Just a drop of water_

_In an endless sea_

_All we do_

_Crumbles to the ground_

_Though we refuse to see_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind _

_Now, don't hang on_

_Nothing last forever,_

_But the earth and sky,_

_It slips away_

_And all your money_

_Won't another minute buy?_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind."_

Travis Picking was difficult at first, but natural now. "Dust In The Wind" was fun to play and it made me feel better. It's meaning was as clear to me as the thoughts in my head. Though strangely belittling, it was comforting. Imagine living your life knowing that in 50 years, what "happened at the prom" won't matter. Imagine living your life freely; it was as if the song was killing my thoughts of consequences. It made me numb, it made me turn off emotions. Apathy. My mother once told me that "apathy" would be my downfall. I still remember the argument...

"Stop talking that way... it scares me; you sound suicidal, almost..."

"_I'm not suicidal; I just don't care."_

"_You can't push everything away, Willow! You have to let yourself feel once in a while or you'll wake up one day and find yourself to be a bitter old woman... you have to let people in."_

"_You let Father in. He hurt you." I whispered, challengingly. Her eyes flashed. I smirked, knowing I had hit a nerve. It was just what I needed in order to prove my point about what apathy can save you from._

"_Yes, I let your father in, he left me, and I got stuck with you." Mother said. A muscle in her left cheek twitched. I stared at her blankly. "Don't you have anything to say to that? Aren't you angry?"_

"_No." I continued to stare._

"_You can't tell me that didn't hurt you." She said in disbelief._

"_Yes I can; it didn't." Her brow crinkled, hurt._

"_How can you just turn off your emotions like that? How can you let what people say just... disappear?"_

"_It's easy. I just don't care. It really doesn't matter." I shrugged her off and started to walk to the woods when I heard her call after me._

"_It'll be your downfall, Willow! Apathy will kill you! It'll suck the life right out of you, leaving you an empty, soulless shell! To _live_ is to feel! You will die knowing nothing of life, and you'll regret it! You'll wish you had died young rather than feel that pain!" I whirled around, facing her, my face steady and calm though inside of me, rage flickered like a candle ready to explode._

"_I am an observer." I said simply. "To observe doesn't take emotion. The more you let emotions out, the more they get in the way of observing. I take in the world with every breath and sigh I make while you..." I laughed darkly. "**You** never stop to record it all in your head. You forget all of the simple moments in life, only remembering the times when you felt extremely emotional. Rage, grief, pain, sorrow, pure happiness... Love. Hatred. Those things get in the way of seeing how beautiful and ugly things can be." She met my stare without blinking._

"_If being an observer means to never experience any of those emotions, I wish you dead right now, where you stand. To keep you alive and live in the torment of never experiencing emotion is only something I would wish on my enemies." Her voice was low and harsh, anger reflecting in her eyes and she blinked away tears._

"_What good is love when it leaves you with horrid, wretched things like me?" I spat out at her. "Apathy is going to save me from the hell you're living in! Ren has blinded you with his sweet words. Love does not, and will not, ever exist." Hatred flickered in my cold gaze, and I turned to walk away._

"_Your father left for a reason, not because he stopped loving me!" She yelled out, almost desperately. I shook my head and smiled to myself, knowing how defeated she was.._

"_Love does not exist; get over it."_

"_Your words are poison to me." With that, she turned and walked away from me. I fled to the woods for comfort._

I blinked, returning from the memory. It was painful and I didn't wish to reflect on thoughts that would make me angrier with Mother. I couldn't allow myself to hold a grudge as big as this against her. I sighed and set the guitar down. I crawled forward to the tip of the cliff and watched sun slowly sink behind the mountains. Purple clouds dotted the skies and they moved across the blood-red sky in puffs. Deep inside me, I felt something stir, like something wild, like something raw, unused, awakening. The dark shadows of the mountains across the water loomed before me and I felt the sudden urge to run to them. I closed my eyes, legs folded beneath me, arms stretched out in front of me. I sat like that for an hour, just thinking, comfortably.

Then it hit.

When the wave of power hit me, I looked around, startled. Another wave. It felt like the sun was in my blood, burning me into ashes. My veins stood out even more clearly on my deathly pale skin.

"_RECEIVE YOUR GIFT!"_ Someone screamed in my head. The voice was loud in my head and sent me crashing around; my head, it must have been splitting in two. I thrashed into a tree and fell, pain gripping me. I stood up and ran blindly into the woods. I met sticker bushes and they tore at the only parts of me not covered; my face, my neck, my arms and hands. I stumbled out, right on the cliff.

"_RECEIVE IT!"_ The voice screamed again. It was a man's voice and it made my head ache. It was wrong, somehow, as though it weren't meant for human ears. There was too much power for it to be okay to hear.

I fell backwards, pain searing every bone in my body, and I writhed on the grass like a dying animal, back arched, face scrunched up in a silent scream.

It stopped.

My body was still aching and I breathed heavily, tears in my eyes. I had inherited my mother's beautiful green eyes and my father's silky black hair. My hair hung to my waist, straight, and perfect. I was horribly pale, as though I'd never seen daylight, and I was average height, underweight, and very developed in... some places. I would have died for my mother's tan skin or her perfect body... alas; I only inherited the size of her small feet, and the shape and size of her thin face. The rest came from my father's side of the family. I was too curvy; it was unnerving. I felt like an hourglass, but uncomfortably so.

I stood up and wobbled, pain shooting up through my legs. My knees collapsed beneath me and I fell onto them, my hands flat on the ground, helping brace the fall. I was breathing hard, confused, tired, and in pain. I rolled over, onto my back, and tried to sleep, but my dreams were filled with nightmares. Black shadows chased me, from monstrous forms that shrunk to wolf-like forms, and even a giant raven tried to peck at me in my dreams. Fire... fire was everywhere. Cold air hit my face, full blast. Shivering, I woke up. It was freezing, and I only had my black Dickies and black t-shirt on. I started shaking uncontrollably but kept my eyes closed when I heard someone speak.

"_Wow..."_ I heard someone whisper by my ear. It was a boy's voice, low and matured; I could tell even though it was only a whisper. He smelled musky, but sweet. The boy was in awe of something, I could... smell it? No, that's not it.

"_Shh... we don' want ter wake her..."_ Something large and heavy was draped over me. _"Blimey, she's freezing! She'll catch 'er death out 'ere. What's she doin' out 'ere anyway?" _A gruff voice said. The man was British. He smelled of... warmth. Compassion. Undying love for nearly all creatures. He was good. I was more relaxed, especially around this one. He smelled even more musky than the boy, but he smelled of a forest and animals of all kinds.

"_Are you sure she's the one?" _The boy asked. He was dark, deeply mistrusting, and angry. No, confused. Afraid. No, not afraid; terrified. He was good, but deeply troubled. I tensed. The boy noticed. _"She's awake. Do we leave?"_

"_No,"_ The gruff voice said._ "We have ter watch 'er..."_

After a while, I fell asleep, finally warm, and I was without nightmares. I finally woke up, without opening my eyes when I felt someone touch the side of my face. I sniffed the air; it was the boy.

"_She's awake."_ The boy said again. He had a beautiful voice, somewhere between that of a tenor and a low bass. It was pleasant and I sighed happily._ "What do we do?"_

"_We leave."_ I heard the gruff voiced person get up and he grabbed the boy. I could hear him grab his hand and drag him away. I froze as I felt soft, cold hands grab my arms and then let go.

"_We can't leave her yet; she needs us to watch her!"_ The boy argued.

"_No." _The boy sighed.

"_Don't worry, we'll come back for you." _ The boy whispered. I opened my eyes. There was nothing there. It was a dream, and nothing more.


	2. Reality Fades

A/N: Second chapter is now up! Took forever to write, let me tell you! This chapter contains violence and should be read with caution. Please rate and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or objects, nor the song "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot" by Brand New.

_Chapter 2: Reality Fades_

I got up slowly, wincing. My body was still aching. Nervously, I peered around, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. The air was different; it didn't... _smell_ right. Electricity was in the air, like a thunderstorm, only much worse. Everything about this place seemed wrong. I walked away slowly, my ears aching from the cries of distant birds, my eyes sharp, though tired, and I took in my surroundings much quicker than I ever had.

Someone was following me, I could tell.

I turned around quickly. I was alone. I shook my head and wandered home, wondering what I would say to Moira and Ren when I got there. Shaking my head, I told myself that I'd worry about that when the time came.

Something flickered ahead of me. I froze, the hair of the nape of my neck sticking up. It flickered again. I stared for a moment before I realized that it was only the wind blowing a leaf out of the way of the sun every few seconds. I felt really stupid...

I slowly jumped down from the cliff when I reached it, landing softly. It still hurt my legs and back anyway, unfortunately. A shooting pain resided there for a moment before I started walking again. I reached the fallen trees and carefully climbed over them, growing steadily dirtier as I climbed over each one. My cuts were stinging from the dirt, still open, still bleeding. Then I came to the sticker bushes. Wincing, I climbed up the tree, and then jumped to the next few trees, until the sticker bushes were behind me. I climbed down, and started walking out of the woods and up the slope.

Finally, I reached the cottage and walked inside. Luckily, Mother and Ren were still asleep, so I hopped into the shower. Yesterday's dirt and grime washed off easily, but the aches and pains were more stubborn. The cuts and gashes I had received from the sticker bushes were red and raw, purpling around the edges. An ugly, deep purple bruise was forming on my left hip, and a few of them speckled my chest and legs.

After I had gotten out of the shower, I pulled the towel tightly around my body, and dried my hair. It was a long and grueling process, which took my nearly 20 minutes to complete. That was probably the only downside to having such long hair. Finally, I walked into my small, brown room and pulled out some clothes. I slipped on my black and red, vertically wide-striped bra and my black panties. I had long since parted ways with white colored _anything_; white was an _extremely_ boring color. Not that I wanted to be noticed by the clothes I wore (I was noticed enough as it was), but white was something everyone wore these days. Apparently, the color white represented "purity", and innocence was something most girls my age were striving to appear to have. Playing "hard-to-get" was _all_ the rage these days. I snorted at the thought, and continued dressing.

A black, "Rocky Horror Picture Show" t-shirt was thrown on (with a picture of Tim Curry's face in a pink-ish red outline), along with a black and white diagonally striped skirt that reached my knees, green and black horizontally thin--striped knee-length toe-socks, black converse shoes, and a neon pink hip-length jacket. I loved my outfits, even if they didn't match, most of the time. They earned snide remarks such as, "Dress in the dark this morning, Willow?" It really didn't matter. I would just smirk back at them and continue on my way, watching the different behaviors of the people around me. I got the most stares when I wore my most mismatching outfits; including mismatching socks (matching socks are _so_ boring and _vastly_ overrated), and sometimes, mismatched shoes. Most of my shoes were vans, converse, or sketchers. I wasn't big into flip-flops or sandals, and I hated the stupid white tennis shoes most people in my class wore. I was an individual, never conforming, but always observing.

"Willow, is that you?" I groaned. Mother.

"Yes," I said quietly. She knocked and opened the door as I began brushing my hair out. Sighing, Mother stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Can you please tell me what last night was about?" She asked, almost pleadingly. I rolled my eyes.

"I believe that information is classified." It was her turn to roll her eyes. She sighed again.

"It's always going to be like this, you always being unhappy and running away, if you don't tell us what's wrong." Mother said quietly, her green eyes darkening. I turned away and shook my hair out.

"I don't want to talk right now." I zipped shut my messy backpack and threw it over my shoulder. As I walked out the door, I whispered, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Mother said and patted my back. "Hey Ren?" She called.

"What, darling?" Came his sickening reply. I hated his voice, it sounded so fake.

"Can you give Willow a ride to school?"

"Yeah, I'll give little Willy a ride!" I groaned audibly. "But she'll need to walk back up on the way home. I'm taking a double shift tonight, so I won't be home until very late." I wiped the grin off of my face and turned to Mother.

"Could you give me a ride back up?" I asked sweetly. She laughed and shook her head.

"Sorry, sweetie. I have to go out of town for a few hours into Burlington... I won't be back until late tonight." I cursed under my breath.

"So I'm home alone, pretty much?" I asked, disappointment creeping into my voice. Mother nodded. Sighing, exasperated at my rotten luck, I grabbed a blueberry muffin off of the table and headed out to Ren's red truck. I yanked open the door and slammed it as I got in. I ate my muffin in silence, waiting for Ren to hurry up and take me to torture—I mean, school... No, 'my torture' sounds about right.

"Hey kiddo!" Ren said happily as he climbed into the driver's seat. Starting the car, he waved goodbye to mom as she got in her little yellow jeep, and we drove forward down the mountain on an easy slope.

"Willow, hun, you gave your mother and I quite a scare and a shock when you ran off like that last night." I cringed as he called me 'hun'.

I grunted in response. He continued lecturing me.

"We didn't know if you were safe or happy... we were very worried about you last night. Growing up is very difficult, I know. I had to go through it, and my teenage years were very mixed up, crazy, and just plain troublesome. But it will get better, I promise." I rolled my eyes, knowing where this speech was going. "You've got a lot of hormones rushing through your veins right now, and you're scared and confused. A lot of new emotions, temptations, thoughts, and actions are taking over what you used to be comfortable with. You're growing up so fast, Willy, and I just can't believe how big you've gotten! I remember..."

I let him drone on for a while before I blocked him out completely, occasionally adding a "Yeah..." or an "mmhmm," or an "I remember that," until I totally spaced out, thinking about the night before. Had the British guys been a dream? It seemed so real... I could still smell them. Smell them? No. Not smell. I could hear them. I knew they were there because I heard them. No smell.

Finally, he finished off with an, "You're a bright, beautiful girl who will make the right decisions, I'm sure." I nodded at him, keeping my annoyance hidden, thanked him politely, and hopped out of the truck as we pulled up in front of the school. Scottsdale High (real original, don't you think?) was a large school consisting of 12 large, white buildings with red roofs, "lettered" A-L. I walked forward into the school, hoping to get through the day.

"Hey, Stump!" Someone behind me called. I ignored them; 'Stump' was the best nickname/insult these idiots could come up with. "Stump! Get in a fight with the mirror again? I think the mirror won!" I laughed to myself. That was the most ridiculous insult I'd heard in a long time. I walked on.

"Hey Weeping-Willow!" A girl simpered. "Couldn't wait for the sun to rise to see your clothes again, eh? It'd be hard to see anything when you live in the Dark Ages up in Technologically-Deficient-Ville!" I rolled my eyes. She was wearing a white dress with a matching bow in her hair. She looked to be about 7 or 8 in that outfit, with her black Mary Janes on. I grinned and moved on to my locker. My face fell when I reached it.

FREAK

I just stared, shocked, and heard the laughter all around me. My head was spinning, the hallway was spinning, and with one last look around, I ran, terrified.

First Class: English. Uneventful, a few spitballs fired at the back of my head.

Second Class: Math. My teacher hates me, so he calls me up to the board numerous times to embarrass me over my poor math skills.

Third Class: Choir. I sang, I ignored sharp prodding in the back by the guys behind me, and I moved on.

Lunch: Different story.

Lunch came next, and it was the last bit of torture I could take. I grabbed my backpack, threw it over my right shoulder, and walked towards the library; I was going to grab the four new books I'd had on hold for a few days. Feeling a little better, I walked happily to the cafeteria, ready to buy my usual; a salad from the Snack Cart. After doing so, I was confronted by a small herd of the most conformist of all the sheep a.k.a. the popular people.

"What's with the outfit, Willow?" One of the girls asked.

"Yeah, because I've got to say; you look retarded!" The girls all giggled.

"So how's it going, _freak_." One of the guys said; a jock. I just stared at them.

"What, haven't you got anything to say? Cat got your tongue? Or should I say _sap_, you freak!" One of the girls said. I rolled my eyes and tried to walk away when one of the guys grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back.

"Don't you walk away from us!" He yelled at me. I turned the other direction and started walking when my backpack was grabbed. I was yanked back with it.

He smelled of anger and annoyance.

She smelled of amusement

He smelled like he hadn't showered.

She smelled bad too.

She didn't use deodorant.

He was wearing pants that didn't go past his ankles. High-waters on a boy, how ridiculous looking.

She hadn't shaved.

He smelled like alcohol.

She smelled like... blood. Really bad smelling blood. Oh my god, she was on her period!

"Allison?" I said quietly, about to enjoy every moment of this.

"Yes, Willow?" She said, sweetly. She smirked at me, about to say something else, when I opened my mouth first.

"It's too bad the 'in' color is white. Wouldn't it suck to get that cute little skirt of yours all red? I mean, it's embarrassing enough that it smells so bad, but man..." I trailed off, smirking at her.

"Now why would Allison get her skirt all red?" The jock, Ken, asked. Everyone just stared at him and I snorted.

"Idiot..." I muttered.

"Oh... Allison, you're on your period?" He said loudly. The rest of the cafeteria turned and looked at Allison. There was an eruption of laughter. I smiled, satisfied, and turned, starting to walk away. Someone grabbed my arm and turned me around. Ken.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked angrily.

"You bug me, I bug you." I said simply.

"Well, at least we're not freaks." He said loudly.

"At least I'm not a conformist sheep." I said defiantly.

"At least we have friends!"

"I don't need friends to make me happy. I have nothing to talk about."

"That's because you have no life!" I stared at him.

"Neither do you."

"Yes I do!"

"Your life is boring. You may as well not even exist." I said plainly. Ken glared at me.

"At least I can keep both of my parents!" He yelled. Silence in the lunchroom. I was shocked, but kept my face blank.

"I'm sure they love you very much." I said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm sure they love you very much." I repeated.

"A lot more than your dad loved you or your mom!"

"It's possible. I never really knew my dad."

"You were such a disgrace to him, he couldn't even stick around to _look_ at you any longer! I'm surprised your mother hasn't left you all alone yet, her and that new husband of hers!"

"Leave my family out of this, Ken." I stared at him, emotionless, and walked away. When no one else was in sight, I started running for the bathroom. Slamming open the door, I sprinted into the nearest stall and threw up. I flushed it and sat on the floor, sobbing.

The thoughts that had haunted me since I was old enough to understand that Father wasn't coming back were resurfacing in my brain.

_Was it my fault?_

_Did he not love me?_

_Why hasn't Mother left me yet?_

_Well, she wished that I were dead once, didn't she? Who's to say she hasn't wished it more than once?_

_Why does everyone hate me?_

_Does everyone blame me?_

_Does Mother blame me?_

_Who am I?_

_Who am I?_

_Who am I?_

My knees were pulled up to my chest and my arms were circling them, holding them close. I shuddered with each sob that broke from my chest. Every thought was filled with poison. _I_ was the poison. Grabbing my stuff, I burst out of the bathroom and out of the school at a dead run. The security guard ran after me, so I put on another burst of speed. I dropped my backpack, but kept running. Running for the mountain. Running home. I had to escape.

"Willow, get back here!" He yelled. I kept running, my legs stretching out to their fullest extent, easily beating the fat old man. He stopped chasing me a mile away from the mountain, but I kept running. Parents inside of shops and on the streets were pointing as I ran in the center of the road towards the mountain.

"Willow, go to school!" One yelled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Another asked.

"Get back here!"

I kept running until I reached the mountain, out of breath, and tired. It's hard running for four straight miles. I doubled over, holding my knees for support, breathing hard, and smiling slightly. When I had caught my breath, I walked my way up the mountain.

The grass was starting to yellow at the bottom of the mountain, and some of the taller grass scratched through my socks. I didn't mind, and happily traipsed up the mountainside. There were a few clouds in the sky, and I smelled rain.

Smelled it?

Not smelled, figured.

I figured it would rain.

All of these mental corrections were starting to give me a really awful headache. The further up the mountain I went, the greener the grass got. I also got a bit colder, a bit more tired, and I really wanted to get home. The grass was long and wavy, past my thighs, blowing in the cool breeze. I shivered a little, but walked on, the grass tickling my legs.

Something moved in the corner of my eye. I stopped moving. The grass rustled. Wind? Maybe. A strong smell of... it wasn't decay... it was old food, rotting food. There was the smell of some sharp, almost sour deodorant in the air. A man. I smelled a man and I stood there, waiting.

"I know you're there." I called. "Come out and face me like a--" Something hurtled from my left side and pummeled me into the ground.

"I'm here, little girl." The voice whispered in my ear. I was laying in the tall grass, a large man on top of me, putting all of his weight down on me. I squirmed and squeaked in pain as he rammed his knee in my stomach. "You keep wiggling and you'll be making more noises than that." He warned. "Convenient of your mother to live so far away from town; no one can hear you scream." My eyes opened in shock.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, whimpering. He laughed.

"Why would I kill a pretty little thing like you?" He asked, caressing my cheek. "I'm here to have a little fun... Knew you'd be coming up this way... Now old Bill's about to have some fun..." I kept my eyes squeezed shut and tried to block out his voice. "Come on now, kiddo, you've got to relax or it won't be fun!" Realizing what he really meant to do, I started screaming and kicking, hoping to hit him, squirming, biting, and fighting to get away, but he held strong. Bill slapped me and I whimpered, unable to move.

"Get off of me, you pervert!" I screamed in his ear. He laughed jauntily.

"No one can hear you scream but me, kid." I finally got a good look at him. He had gray streaked brown hair that fell to his shoulders, cold blue eyes, and a mouth curled into a sneer.

"Let me go!" I yelled. He responded by slapping me full on the face again. I bit my tongue so hard that it bled, and I spit the blood in his face. "Get off!" Bill laughed again and sat up straight on me. My eyes widened again as I saw him unbutton and unzip his jeans. I thrashed at him with my hands, arms flailing, screaming, kneeing him if I could.

I fought tooth and nail to get him off of me as he pulled up my skirt and pulled down my underwear. His hands groped around for something to hold onto and I screamed the loudest I've ever screamed. Tears streamed down my face as I continued to hit him, fighting as hard as I possibly could.

"Stop fighting; it'll be over faster if you do." He yelled angrily, spit hitting my cheek. He pulled my head up by my hair and smashed it into a large rock. I cried harder, but continued to fight. I dug my nails into him as an unbearable pain beseeched my body. I tried to block it out, tried blocking out everything in my head. I was screaming, clawing out, begging for it all to stop. I blacked out.

When I awoke, I was alone and my clothes were back on. I stood up uneasily and look around, petrified and hurting. A storm raged inside of me, and a feeling of hatred and pain washed over me, killing all good thoughts, and all good emotions. I was horribly bruised and in unbearable pain, even then. I looked around me, hoping that Bill was long gone. Whether for his sake or for mine, I wasn't sure. If I could've gotten my hands on him then, I would've beaten him to a bloody pulp and thrown him off of the mountain onto a sharp rock.

I stumbled forward, stumbled home, hoping my mother would just wrap her arms around me and tell me that everything would be okay. Mother's face flashed before my eyes; disgust written into every line of it. She would be disgusted that I couldn't have handled the situation, ashamed that I couldn't stop him, and she would hate me. At that thought, I ran home as fast as I could, stumbling and falling every 30 steps, until I reached our cottage. I burst through the door looking around wildly, and grabbed a small bag. I shoved as many pieces of clothing as I could into it; shirts, pairs of pants and skirts, socks, underwear, bras... As soon as it was nearly breaking at the seam, I zipped it up and swung it over my shoulder. I picked up my electric guitar in its hard case and, remembering that my acoustic was at the secret spot, tore out of the house, only grabbing four or five large blueberry muffins.

It was probably around 5:00 when I reached my secret spot. I dropped my things, setting my muffins on my backpack, and fell to the ground, sobbing. I was horrified by what had happened, terrified that it would happen again. The thought of a man touching me, anyone touching me for that matter, made me sick to my stomach. I turned to the nearest tree and vomited, its acrid stench polluting the air around me. Everything was so dirty; I was so dirty. It was my fault, all my fault, and the feeling of being unclean wouldn't go away. My blood was dirty, muddy, filled with disease and sickness; my hands, my feet, my very body and soul were covered in a thick slime; I could feel it. I had to be rid of it. I ran. I plunged into the creek, standing waist deep, and tore off my clothes, throwing them on the banks. I scrubbed at my skin with the creek water, watching the dirt and grass come off. I was not satisfied. I scrubbed harder and harder, scouring my skin, every inch of me; I had to be rid of the dirt. The water around me was going red with my blood. Tears poured down my face until I slowly sunk into the water, gasping and sobbing in pain and frustration; it was so hard to breathe. I closed my eyes, only to find scenes from earlier flashing through my brain. I screamed and started spitting, coughing, hacking up anything I could. I swayed, holding my stomach, and collapsed into the water, feeling sick. My head started to ache and I grew dizzy. Water closed over my head before I got to take a breath. Black.

I don't remember being pulled out of the water. I don't remember going back to the cliff. I don't remember being dried off or clothed. I don't know how the hell I got back to the cliff, but I did. I'm not sure whether I'd just been saved, or condemned to another round of hell. But it didn't matter; I was alive.

The sun was nearly set when I pulled out my acoustic guitar and began playing a song by Brand New, a band steadily growing popular. I played a song called, "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot."

"_If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand_

_I hope you find out what you want_

_I already know what I am_

_And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again_

_And you can tell me how vile I already know that I am_

_I'll grow old and start acting my age_

_I'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate_

_A crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone _

_And it hurts a whole lot, but it's missed when it's gone_

_Call me a safe bet; I'm betting I'm not _

_I'm glad that you can forgive _

_I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget _

_If it makes you less sad, I'll move out of the state _

_You can keep to yourself; I'll keep out of your way _

_And if it makes you less sad, I'll take your pictures all down _

_Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out_

_It's cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room,_

_When I sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds_

_So call it quits or get a grip_

_Say you wanted a solution; you just wanted to be missed _

_Call me a safe bet; I'm betting I'm not _

_I'm glad that you can forgive _

_I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget... _

_You are calm and reposed; let your beauty unfold. _

_Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones _

_Spring keeps you ever close_

_You are second hand smoke; you are so fragile and thin _

_Standing trial for your sins_

_Holding onto yourself the best you can _

_You are the smell before rain_

_You are the blood in my veins _

_Call me a safe bet; I'm betting I'm not. _

_I'm glad that you can forgive_

_I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget..."_

I set the guitar down and cried, facing the sunset, my face buried in my hands. My body was shaking with the sobs that racked it, and I started to lie down, still facing the setting sun as it sunk low beneath the mountains. The clouds were a dark, deep red. _Like the color of my blood,_ I thought to myself. I was just about to fall asleep when I smelled something else. _Tuna_. Tuna? Tuna! I hated tuna! I sneezed, trying to get the smell out of my nose when I froze again. Tuna? I had never brought tuna out here... never even thought of bringing it out here... and no one had ever been out here... Unless... I leapt up, still sore and aching, pain racking my body, and I sniffed around, desperate to find the source. Then, bathed in moonlight...

An empty can of tuna.

I walked warily around it, looking around, my eyes sharp even in the dark. A twig snapped—it was only me. I was breathing hard, searching for the source of the tuna can, when I ran back to the cliff and grabbed my stuff. I had to get out of there. Someone was following me; I couldn't be followed, it was too dangerous! What did they want with me? What could they possibly want? I froze when I reached the tuna again. I picked it up gingerly, looking at it intently, wondering where it had come from, when suddenly...

I felt a jerk somewhere behind my navel, and I was jerked irresistibly forward with a howl of wind, whistling in my ears, and through swirling colors until—

I fell and landed hard, my guitar and bag falling with me.


	3. A Way Out

A/N: I'm sad I'm not getting any reviewers, but then this story is being written for me; at least, until I get some followers :). BTW I'm not trying to make Willow into a friggin MarySue, because she is anything but. She's a moody, bitter, stuborn, very troubled teen who thinks that her way is always best. Her powers come to her (well, obviously: if you have no idea what I'm talking about, kindly refer to chapter 1), but all of them are a disadvantage and don't really help her or anyone else in the slightest bit. I'm also not trying to create a big, fluffy, love story, because for the most part, she is terrified by people. She doesn't trust anyone and thinks everyone is out to get her (paranoid, a bit?), and is terrified that someone might touch her again. So, she is a smart, but very paranoid and kind of weak character having NOTHING to do with the downfall of Voldemort. So uh... now that I've gotten this all out before I get people yelling at me with bad reviews (which I honestly don't know if I'd mind... any review would be nice right now tear), I'd like to say that the next chapter is going to be fairly short (sorry, it just is) and... on with the show!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, nor the songs "Penny Lane" by the Beatles, "Here Comes The Sun" by the Beatles, or "The Remedy" by Jason Mraz. Only Scottsdale (its place of existance and set up), Willow, Moira, Ren, the people of Scottsdale, Devin Daelin, and her secret spot and all of that ish are mine. Sadly. I wish I owned HP mourns. Oh well, I'm still kinda glad J.K.R. does, because knowing me, I'd screw it up somehow :).

_Chapter 3: A Way Out_

Standing up shakily, I surveyed my surroundings. The sky was filled with clouds and it was pouring down rain in sheets. I grabbed my guitars and bag and ran into the nearest shop, slamming the door behind me. I breathed hard, wondering where the hell I was, when I noticed how everyone was staring at me. I was in a pub, a small, dingy, sort of dirty little pub. The people seemed friendly enough though, but I didn't trust them, not one bit. Someone clapped a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and withdrew myself from their touch, squeaking in terror.

"I'm sorry to frighten you, young miss, but I was just wondering what you'd be needing here at the Leaky Cauldron?" I shook my head and smacked my ears a few times.

"Excuse me, what'd you say?" I asked, confused. The man smiled.

"What can I do for you here at the Leaky Cauldron?" He asked again. The man was British.

"Where... where am I?" I asked squeakily.

"The Leaky Cauldron, in London." I stared. "England." He raised an eyebrow at me. "Are you alright, young miss?" He gave me a concerned stare as my eyes went wide and my body went rigid. The man leaned forward to touch me when I ran behind a chair and hid.

"Don't touch me!" I cried. He walked around the table and held out a hand to me.

"I'm not going to hurt you, young miss." When I didn't take his hand, he sighed. "Here, head on up to room 17. You can stay for the night; you look like you need a place to stay." Though extremely grateful, I was still highly nervous around this man. I was nervous around anyone staring at me. They were thinking about me... I knew they were; they had to have been! I flinched and breathed in sharply. I grabbed my bags and clambered up the stairs to room 17.

It was a grubby, dingy little room with mismatched furniture, a small bed with only one thin cover, and a dusty mirror. A small desk sat in the corner, and I threw my bag on it while setting my guitars down. I threw myself onto the bed and cried. I don't remember stopping crying, just that I had fallen asleep with the tears still streaming down my dirty face.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of someone banging on my door. "Housekeeping!" The woman shouted. I groaned and yelled for them to come back later. She sighed and walked on. I skipped the shower (though I was in terrible need of one) and just brushed my hair instead. I stayed in the same clothes as the night before and, after switching my guitars and their cases, brought my acoustic guitar out in front of the pub, the Leaky Cauldron, leaving the hard case open. The only way I was going to get home, or just to get food, would be to earn it. And since I didn't really have any special skills besides playing the guitar, I figured that being a street player might do me some good.

I started with something fun that would cheer me up. I strapped the strap on the guitar and around my body and began playing something sure to brighten up people's day. I decided to play "The Remedy" by Jason Mraz, and I got plenty of attention from that. A nice large crowd was gathering, tossing money into my guitar case, and dancing a little bit. I just let it all out and had fun with it—after all, that's the point of the song, right?

"_Well I saw fireworks from the freeway_

_And behind closed eyes I cannot make them go away_

_'Cause you were born on the 4th of July, freedom ring_

_Well something on the surface, it stings._

_I said something on the surface, well it kind of makes me nervous._

_To say that you deserve this and_

_What kind of God would serve this_

_We will cure this dirty old disease_

_Well, if you gots the poison, I gots the remedy._

_The Remedy is the experience_

_This is a dangerous liaison._

_I says the comedy is that it's serious._

_This is a strange enough new play on words._

_I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend_

_The rest of your nights with the light on_

_So shine the light on all of your friends._

_When it all amounts to nothing in the end._

_I - I won't worry my life away (hey, oh-oh)_

_I - I won't worry my life away (hey, oh-oh)_

_Well I heard two men talking on the radio,_

_In a cross-fire kind of new reality show._

_Uncovering the ways to plan the next a-big attack_

_Well they were counting down the ways to stab the brother in the..._

_Be right back after this: The unavoidable kiss_

_With a minty-fresh death breath is sure to outlast this catastrophe_

_Dance with me_

_'Cause if you gots the poison, I gots the remedy._

_The Remedy is the experience_

_This is a dangerous liaison_

_I says the comedy is that it's serious_

_This is a strange enough new play on words_

_I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend_

_The rest of your nights with the light on_

_So shine the light on all of your friends._

_When it all amounts to nothing in the end._

_I - I won't worry my life away (hey, oh-oh)_

_I - I won't worry my life away (hey, oh-oh)_

_When I fall in love,_

_I take my time_

_There's no need to hurry when I'm making up my mind_

_You can turn off the sun_

_But I'm still gonna shine_

_And I'll tell you why_

_'Cause the Remedy is the experience_

_This is a dangerous liaison._

_I says the comedy is that its serious._

_This is a strange enough new play on words._

_I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend_

_The rest of your nights with the light on_

_So shine the light on all of your friends._

_When it all amounts to nothing in the end._

_I – I won't worry my life away (hey, oh-oh)_

_I – I won't worry my life away (hey, oh-oh)"_

As I finished, the crowd clapped. I bowed, ecstatically, and played another fun one, a Britain-friendly song; "Penny Lane" by The Beatles. They laughed and sang along, someone doing an impression of the trumpet.

"_In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs_

_Of every head he's had the pleasure to have known._

_And all the people that come and go_

_Stop and say hello._

_On the corner is a banker with a motorcar,_

_And little children laugh at him behind his back._

_And the banker never wears a Mac_

_In the pouring rain; very strange._

_Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes._

_There beneath the blue suburban skies_

_I sit, and meanwhile back_

_In penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass_

_And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen._

_He likes to keep his fire engine clean,_

_It's a clean machine._

_Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes._

_A four of fish and finger pies_

_In summer, meanwhile back_

_Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout_

_The pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray_

_And though she feels as if she's in a play_

_She is anyway._

_In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer,_

_We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim._

_And then the fireman rushes in_

_From the pouring rain; very strange._

_Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes._

_There beneath the blue suburban skies_

_I sit, and meanwhile back._

_Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes._

_There beneath the blue suburban skies,_

_Penny Lane!"_

The crowd clapped again, and I laughed as they tossed in money. "What do you guys want to hear next?" I yelled.

"Here Comes the Sun!" A man yelled out, somewhere in the back. I obliged and broke into song. Everyone was grinning and laughing. As the morning wore on, the crowd thinned, leaving me alone after a few hours. That was good; I needed some water. I looked into my case and counted the money: 37 pounds exactly. I walked back into the Leaky Cauldron and asked the bartender if he could give me a glass of water. He obliged and I drank it down greedily. All of that singing and playing had left me quite exhausted, and my throat was really tired.

"What's the day?" I asked him.

"Why, it's Halloween, miss! I'd be expecting every youngster to know that..."

"Oh... I..." I stopped and looked down. "Do you know why or how I got here?" The bartender looked at me, carefully weighing his thoughts before he spoke.

"If you're really looking for answers, you might want to try Kings Cross Station." The bartender said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"Trust me, go there, and you'll find your answers, one way or another." I nodded and thanked him. After stuffing my pockets with my money and grabbing my bag and guitars, I headed towards a bus stop, hoping to get to Kings Cross Station. I sat there on the bench, waiting. I had to get some answers. I had to get them soon; I knew that if I waited any longer, I'd burst.

The screech of a bus stopping woke me out of my 10-second daydream, and I stood up as the bus driver opened the door.

"Where are you headed to, missy?" He asked. I smiled; I loved all of these English accents.

"Kings Cross Station." I said stoutly. He laughed.

"Next bus'll take you there; we're headed the opposite way." He closed the door and sped away leaving me sitting there, very annoyed. I became immersed in my own thoughts once more.

How the hell had I gotten here? Was this all just a dream? _I certainly hope that that man was a dream,_ I thought, shivering. I could feel his hands all over me, touching me, befouling me. My skin was so dirtied... I hoped it was just a dream. No, that was a nightmare, and one of the worst kind of nightmares I had ever experienced. Even worse than when daddy had—

Another loud screech jolted me out of the blackness of my thoughts. The door to the bus opened with a small squeak of the rusty hinges, and the bus driver looked down at me. He looked like he was getting on in his years with big bushy white eyebrows, a wrinkled face, and a small potbelly. But the kind look in his eyes eased my wariness and I relaxed, a little.

"Where are you headed, Miss?" He asked.

"Kings Cross Station, sir." The bus driver nodded at me.

"Climb on, that's our next stop." I grinned enthusiastically and climbed on, my hard guitar case smacking the side of the bus. I smiled sheepishly at him, slipped my money in the slot, and took a seat near the front of the bus. With a dull roar, the bus lurched forward and we sped off. "Why are you headed to the station, miss? If you don't mind my asking."

"I... I'm looking for some answers." I stared out of a window at the buildings passing by.

"Ah, an American?" I nodded and he laughed. "What brings you up here?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" He looked at me, his eyes hidden beneath his furrowed bushy eyebrows.

"I don't even know how I got here. I... I'm completely lost." My eyes misted over a little and I sniffed pitifully.

"You'll find your way back home one day, don't even worry about it. Have you tried calling your folks?" I frowned and sunk a little deeper into my seat.

"They don't have a phone, and no one in my town would help me, or even care." I sat thoughtfully. "I don't want to home, anyways." The bus driver stared at me from his mirror. "Sometimes things happen, and the last thing you need is to be home."

"Everyone has to face the music _some time_, kid." He said quietly, but sympathetically. "No matter what you did, your mum will always forgive you." I shook my head, forcing tears back.

"No, not for this, she won't. She could never forgive me for what happened." I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cold window. As I breathed, the window fogged a little, and then faded. It made me smile, and I stared at the funny shapes it would make once the fog reached my nose. From there, it would just form around the side of my face that was touching the window, and when I pulled away, it would slowly disappear. I saw the fog slowly collect together and form large droplets that slowly slid down the surface of the window, down to the metal pane. I jumped when the driver spoke again.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"A way out." I whispered. "An escape."

"A way out of what?"

"Reality."

The bus lurched when it stopped, and I almost fell off of my seat. I looked around and saw the large train station before me.

"Kings Cross Station," The bus driver said. "Goodbye, miss." I nodded at him. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you," I grabbed my bag and guitars and jumped off of the bus. I didn't look back once. This... this _wandering_, this constant search for answers... This was my life now. And for some reason, the thought of living such a lonely life didn't scare me. The thought of living a nomadic life didn't bother me. Never having a place to go home to, never having anyone to hold onto. But I didn't need either. My entire life, I'd never really had someone to hold onto. My mother loved me, but seemed more wrapped up in her spouses to take good care of me. The only time I really felt her loving me was when she taught me guitar, but I'm still not sure if the passion was for the guitar or just passing it on to me. I shook my head. Thoughts like those, self-pitying thoughts, were never good to dwell on. They cause bitterness and hate. And then I wondered if that was all that my life was; bitterness. Am I really that bitter?

A sharp, distinctly familiar and strong smell hit me. I froze. Looking around slowly, I tried to match the smell with a face. Unfortunately, the station was crowded with people, and it was difficult to even keep hold of the smell with all of the people bumping into me as they ran to their platform. Suddenly, I saw the source of the smell. A thin, very ragged looking man was walking away from me when he stopped and swerved around. His clothes were very tattered and torn and was that a... a cloak? His body went rigid, as did mine. _Beast._ My lip went back in a snarl and I felt something stir, deep within me. He walked forward quickly, cloak swaying. I set down my guitars and bag and walked forward, slightly hunched, my eyes dark. We circled each other slowly, and then I shook my head, almost breaking whatever trance I was in.

"Who are you?" He asked, warily. He looked my rugged, dirty, ratty appearance up and down and then stared at me cautiously.

"Why should I tell you?" I growled. He looked at me sternly. I calmed considerably, and almost felt ashamed, like a pup back-talking its elder. His slightly gray streaked sandy blonde hair whipped around a little in the wind. "Willow En Daelin." I said quietly, hanging my head. He cupped my chin in his hand, attempting to get a look at me when I flinched and backed away. The man stared at me, confused.

"You shouldn't be here yet, you should be safe." I stared at him. "How did you get here?" My eyes were wide and I shook my head, scared. "Speak!" He barked at me. I quivered and looked at him, abashed.

"I-I don't know. I was just running home from school and I--" I paused. "If they hadn't have teased me, I wouldn't have--" I stared at him, mortified. Paranoia hit me in a wave, and it felt like he knew, that everyone knew. The way he was staring at me, judging me, I had to stop him. He had to know I had tried to stop it. "I tried to get away, but he wouldn't let me go!" I covered my mouth, horrified, and backed away slowly. I tripped over my own guitars and landed on the ground with a solid thud. The man walked closer to me and I felt a tear slide down my dirty face. He knelt down and wiped it away with his thumb. Suddenly, I burst into tears, holding my face in my hands. "It was the tuna can!" I wailed. "They tried to follow me and it was the _tuna_ can!" I felt a hand stroke my hair, and I looked up, gasping. I backed away, squeaking like a broken toy, or like a whining animal.

"It was the tuna can?" The man asked.

"Yes!" I cried, loudly. "It was the tuna can! It made me come here, and I don't even know where I am!" People around were staring at me. "And I landed at some place called the 'Leaky Cauldron', and Cauldrons are only used by--" He clamped a hand over my mouth.

"Hush, not here!" He pulled a stick and a watch out of his pocket. "Dumbledore will know what to do..."

"What?"

"You're leaving." He was about to tap the watch when I stopped him.

"What about my stuff?" I asked, worried about my guitars, especially.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure they get back to you." He patted my hand reassuringly. I pulled it back in an instant, and flashes of Bill ran through my brain, gripping my wrist, pulling at my hair, making noises... The man snapped his finger, and my mind jolted to the present. "Tell Dumbledore I sent you."

"Who?"

"Dumbledore." He looked at me desperately, and looked around at the passerby. He was twitching slightly, suddenly breathing hard as though he'd just run a marathon. He was in a panic. "You have to get out of here!"

"Who are you?"

"Remus Lupin, but--"

"What's going on?" I asked, his panic catching.

"Take this," He shoved the watch into my hand. "Portus." He muttered, and then counted quietly to himself. "3, 2, 1..." I felt the same familiar jerk from somewhere behind my navel, and I was pulled forward into a rush of howling wind and color...

And then I felt someone, or something, rip me backwards, and I fell to the earth with a solid thud. I dropped the watch the moment I fell, and I shook my head, confused and a bit sore.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" A cold voice simpered. I looked up confused, only to find myself surrounded by 8 or 9 people, all wearing dark, hooded robes; all with masks over their faces. I whimpered softly and looked around, terrified. They smelled of death and pain, of evil; but of death and pain that they had caused. I stood up slowly and tried to walk away, but they only closed in tightly, forming a great barrier.

"What do you want from me?" I asked softly. My inner rage, like a candle, was blown out and died. All that was left was terror, pure terror. A terror I had only known once before, once when I was very young. I kept my face empty, though. _You must stay strong,_ I thought to myself. They laughed at me, and one of them stepped forward.

"Aw, baby doesn't want to play?" A woman's voice answered. I stared at her blankly. "You know, from what I've heard, babies do only two things with their voices."

"Yeah? And what's that?" I asked, slightly irritated.

"Babies," She began, taking another step forward, her boots crunching leaves on the ground. "Cry," She took another step forward, barely 5 feet away from me. My heart thumped faster, it beating so loud that I just _knew_ they all could hear it. "But babies also scream." She laughed as I stared at her, a question in my eyes that I could not hide. "Which will you do, baby?" My stare had lost its blankness, as a sudden realization hit me.

"NO!" I screamed, trying to run away. The robed people grabbed me and threw me back in the circle. "NO!" I screamed again. They closed in around me. "LEAVE ME ALONE! NOT AGAIN!" I fell to the ground, arms covering my head. "DON'T TOUCH ME, PLEASE!" I curled into a small ball and began muttering to myself, whimpering softly. Laughter rang throughout the group, and it sent shivers up and down my spine.

"Don't worry, baby, we won't have to touch you for this..." I could almost hear her smile. "_Crucio_." She said loudly. Pain beyond anything I had ever known was upon me, beating me senseless. It was as though I were being stabbed with a thousand white-hot knives, screws were being drilled into my body, and hammers were driving rusty nails into my brain. I was screaming louder than I had ever screamed before. Nails were cutting at my face, and I clawed at myself, begging the pain to end, to stop, just so I could die. Then, it stopped. I lay on the ground, shuddering, gasping for air. "How was that, baby?" The woman asked again. "You're not crying, are you?" Against the protest of my aching body, I stood up and stared defiantly at the group.

"I refuse to cry in front of you." I said stoutly. More laughter, dark and cruel.

"A challenge?" The woman asked. My eyes opened wide and I began shaking my head quickly. "I _know_ I heard a challenge." The woman said, and I could feel her grinning.

"No... please... have mercy!" I yelped. "HAVE MERCY!" I screamed as I fell again, pain searing every inch of me. It was so intense, so much more intense than that night at sunset—my bones were breaking, snapping, burning, boiling. My skin was set ablaze, no oxygen was reaching my lungs, my eyes were rolling loudly as the air was filled with my screams. It ended, and I found myself lying on the ground again, shaking and wincing. I touched my face and felt my own claw marks, blood dripping from them. I winced as I touched the scratches on my arms and hands. I groped around on the ground when I saw the watch, gleaming in the moonlight shadowed by the trees of the forest.

The wind changed.

The air changed.

Time changed.

A shudder ran through the group and whispers filled the air, all of them saying, "Master is here, the Dark Lord is here." A smell of hate filled the air, followed by fury, and pleasure. It was then that a high, cold voice spoke. I didn't dare look up.

"What did my Death Eaters catch?" He asked, silkily.

"A girl," A man said, just as smoothly.

"Muggle?" The cold voice asked. He now smelled of amusement.

"We're... not entirely sure." The woman said nervously. I raised my eyes and looked up from the ground. The... what did he call them? Death Eaters? Well, the Death Eaters were all facing the same way, and I flickered my eyes over there. In an instant, I wished I hadn't. A tall, pale man stood there, wrapped in his dark cloak. Red eyes glared at me, and his lipless smile was cold and cruel. I could smell the evil in this man; it was all over him, his past, present, and future. I was horrified and buried my head in my arms, curled up in the fetal position.

"It's only a child..." He said quietly.

"We caught her using a portkey, one headed for Hogwarts." _Hogwarts?_ _What the hell was that?_

"Why were you going to Hogwarts, girl?" The cold voiced man asked. I whimpered in reply and started speaking gibberish. "Who are you?" I lifted my head slowly and stared him in the eyes.

"I... My name..." I could hardly think.

"Speak, girl!" One of the men barked. I looked up and stared at him. The cruel voiced man looked at him too.

"You dare speak out of turn?" He asked, cruelly.

"N-no, master, never!" He took a step back.

"You've become _very_ daring lately, Karkaroff." He took one step forward. "First, you plead innocence with the Ministry and turn in several of our friends here, then you have the _nerve_ to flee my calling? Now, you speak out of turn almost every chance you get?" The man smiled cruelly and raised a stick at him. "You've betrayed us once, you could do it again. You don't deserve to live, Karkaroff."

"P-please, master! Forgive me!"

"Silence!" The man said loudly, smiling with his lipless mouth. "You've been here for far too long. I do not forgive, I do not forget. Goodbye, Karkaroff." I stared in horror. "_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" He screamed. There was a blinding blast of green light and a rushing sound. Moments later, I opened my eyes to see the fallen body of Karkaroff, unmoving. He was laying spread eagled on the ground. He was dead. I gave a sob of horror and wept into my arms. A cold hand brushed my cheek, and cringing, I moved away. I looked up to see the man kneeling beside me.

"Poor child, don't even know who or what you are." He said, staring at me with a cold smile.

"I...I am Willow." I gulped and a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face.

"Such a pretty child," He mused to himself. "How old are you?"

"S-sixteen." I stuttered. He gave a short, bark of a laugh.

"Do you hear that, my Death Eaters? Sixteen!" They all laughed in unison. "Off to Hogwarts then, in the same year as Harry Potter! You must know him well, don't you dear?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said quickly, hoping he wouldn't come any closer. I trembled when he did. He touched my face again, and I shuddered in terror.

"American, are you?" I nodded. "Willow... Willow... The name is familiar... wait." He stopped, thinking. "Devin... Devin Daelin. Scottsdale?" He asked. I sat there, fear racking all of my thoughts. He grinned. "We've caught her, my Death Eaters. We've finally caught her, after sixteen long years. Come here, pet." I felt hands grab me and lift me up. They pushed me towards him. "Yes... yes, we've caught you. Your stupid father thought he could hide you for forever... But you can never escape Lord Voldemort. He should have known it was only a matter of time... and here you are, being handed to me on a silver platter!" He laughed, and I shivered, wincing at his dark smell.

"I..." I whispered. He looked down at me.

"You what?"

"I..." I tried again, but couldn't say anymore.

"If you cannot say it, then I shall help you." I felt like something slammed straight into my head, and I staggered backwards. Thoughts and memories flashed in front of my eyes, stopping at the one of Bill. I tried to shut it out, block it out, but I could see it no matter what I did. I was screaming in my head, my ears were ringing with it. I fell to the ground, gasping.

"Cat got your tongue?" I shut my eyes fiercely. "Or should I say... Bill?" My eyes snapped open and I turned to face him, hatred and anger burning in my eyes. He wouldn't dare. Voldemort grinned. My stomach was a block of ice; yes, he would dare. "Come now, do you think you can hurt me? I assure you, I'm much stronger and more powerful than Bill was. Of course, I'd use you for other things... I'm not much into rape, myself." He grinned wider, his eyes flashing. "Of course, I have not had a woman in _so_ many years... I'm sure you wouldn't mind being taken advantage only once more, my pet? After all... power awaits those who seek it, and here I am, handing it to you. Unless of course, you wish to die... That _too_ can be arranged." I had to get out of there, I was going to die; I didn't want to die. I spotted the watch next to me and grabbed it. It glowed blue for an instant before I was jerked into the air, and I heard Voldemort's yell of frustration as I sped away.


	4. Unending Whispers

A/N: Hey, I told you in the last chapter that this one would be awfully short. If you didn't remember that... READ MY AUTHOR'S NOTES FROM NOW ON, YOU SILLY GOOSE! :). (pouts) oh yeah, I'm still not getting any reviews... It's making quite sad, actually...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, though I sure as hell wish I did. Meh.

_Chapter 4: Unending Whispers_

I slammed into the ground next to a gigantic lake; its surface was cool and serene. I stood up and fell again, much to my dismay, and lay there in pain. I had never felt pain so intense before, nor as much pain as that in one night. Within the course of a few days, the world as I knew it had turned upside down, and I kept asking myself: was this the escape from reality I'd been praying about? It didn't seem possible. I wanted magic, freedom, and an answer to my questions on life. I wanted escape, I wanted adventure, I wanted to explore. I didn't want rape, confusion, and torture. I didn't want to see death in the face, but that night, I had. What kind of world was this when the wishes it grants brings more pain than happiness? I cursed myself for my foolishness; cursed the day I was born, cursed my mother for conceiving me, and cursed the day my father met my mother. The pain, the horrible agony I was in was unbearable; I could scarcely breathe. But one name echoed in my head; one name would make it all better.

_Dumbledore._

Yes, I had to find Dumbledore. This... this Dumbledore would make it safe again, he'd make it okay. The Lupin man had said so... but wasn't it him that made me go to those bad people? What if this Dumbledore was just another name for Voldemort? What if he was just another bad man?

I shook my head; no, Lupin smelled good. He smelled safe.

_Smelled?_

Yes, smelled. I could... tell things through my nose now; I might as well accept it. I mean, there I was, nearly dying in the world of magic, and I wouldn't even accept a bloody gift. How stupid was I, really?

Suddenly I realized how unsafe it was to just be laying there; anyone could be nearby, waiting to pounce on me. I tried to stand up, but just wavered and fell. Sighing, I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere by attempting to walk, so I laid myself out flat, and slowly dragged my body forward with my arms. Every few minutes, I had to stop and rest. The sun had set and I was left alone in the darkness. For once, I hated the sunset. But I dragged myself on; I had to go on. My luck didn't improve from there. I found myself at a slope, making it twice as difficult to climb up to that damn—well, I didn't really know where I was going, but the hill sure as hell didn't help. Every few feet, I'd slowly feel myself slide down again, so I'd grab onto the grass and pull as hard as I could to keep myself in position. It was long and grueling work, and sweat was glistening on every part of me. The cool air dried it, sending chills up and down my body, and I realized how much colder England was than Scottsdale.

_I'm going to die..._ I thought, miserably.

_No, no you won't, you prat. Don't be stupid!_ Another voice yelled back.

_I have no idea where I'm going or where I am! _ I snarled. _Mother will never be able to find me, and no one cares!_

_Oh shut up, you, before I have to knock you out with a spoon._

_A spoon?_

_Yes, a bloody spoon. Now hang in there and get to that castle!_

_What castle?_

_That castle!_

_Oh, _that's_ really helpful. Now I know _exactly_ where it is._ I thought sourly.

_You dolt, ahead of you!_ I looked up and found a large blurry shape. I shook my head, not able to see it. _Focus... focus... you can do it, Will!_

I squinted and saw a large, bright full moon with a castle silhouetting it. I gasped. It was beautiful. The stars shown above by the dozens, by the hundreds, by the thousands, sparkling and twinkling at me merrily. I blinked, amazed, and crawled forward as fast as I could. Suddenly, darkness overcame most of the grounds, and I looked up to see the moon being shadowed by dark clouds. I looked up and saw them moving quickly across the sky, when a roll of thunder broke the silence, and rain started to fall in big, fat, droplets. I screamed as the thunder roared and the lightning flashed, and much to my displeasure, the ground was getting slippery. It was growing hard to hold on to the grass, and I could feel the mud oozing into my shoes and rain soaking into my socks. I had to get to that castle, and I had to get there fast. A wave of adrenaline washed over me, and I suddenly found that I could stand. Not waiting for the rush of power to go away, I ran up the large hill and towards the castle. I pushed open the doors and stumbled into a large hall filled with a few hundred people. The candles blew out from the wind and I stood there in the shadows, my face only lit when lightning struck outside. Silence overcame the large room, and I just stared about wildly, feeling nauseous.

_Calm down,_ The obnoxious voice said. The candles flickered back on in one large wave, and revealed an astonished 'audience'.

"No, I won't calm down!" I hissed.

_No one can help you if you're crazy and paranoid._ Images of Voldemort and his Death Eaters ran through my head. Flashes of Bill, the smells of Bill, the sounds of Bill were all around me. I looked around, ready to either fight or cry.

"Leave me alone, I'm not crazy!" I wailed and started hitting my head. "Get out! Get out of my head!" Once I had hit myself many times, not only did I have a major headache, but also the room was spinning.

_You prat, look around you!_

"I'm not a... a 'prat', I can see perfectly well." I turned my gaze and saw everyone staring at me. Ahead of me was a tall very old man with a very long, white beard and blue eyes that were blinking at me in confusion. Exhaustion hit me like a hammer, and I looked around the room, dazedly.

"Need... Dumbledore..." I gasped out, staggering forward through the hall. My shoes squeaked a little, and my hair hung limp and wet around my face. "Lupin sent..." I swallowed. "Please, they hurt me... I..." There was whispering all throughout the hall, and I looked around wildly. "Don't touch me!" I gasped out when I felt the wind blow on me. "They keep on hurting..." I swayed a little and took another step forward into the hall. I gasped for air. "Can't... breathe..." I started shaking and hyperventilating, my body shaking madly while I was convulsing. I fell to my knees and started crawling forward. "Please... need... Dumbledore... Need answers..." A familiar smell hit my nostrils among the scents of the hundreds of others. A boy, the troubled boy, the musky but sweet smelling boy, the boy who had taken care of me was here, here in the same room. "Where are you?" I called out, standing up feverishly. People around me were staring at me wide-eyed and fearfully. I turned my head to the right and connected the smell to the boy. There sat a boy of sixteen with untidy jet black hair and eyes as bright and green as mine. He was staring at me, confused about what to do. He smelled of... pain. He was in pain before I came here! And... confusion. Worry. Fear. I smelled fear all around me. I took a few uneasy steps towards him when I felt my knees buckle. "You..." I said quietly, fearfully. I was falling, falling almost in slow motion. I don't remember hitting the ground... My mind was going blank and my vision was dissolving into blackness after I uttered out one last word: Help.


	5. Mission

A/N: Well, here's chapter 5 and let me say, it took me a friggin long time to write it. Still no reviews or readers... quite depressing, really. Anyways, most of these chapters are going to be from Harry's POV... and kind of not. I'm writing it in 2nd person, so it's following Harry and his thoughts without it being "I" and "My" format. Um... review please? I have a feeling no one likes my story and that kind of sucks.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, nor the songs "Volcano" by Damien Rice and "The Horses" by Kenny Loggins.

_Chapter 5: Mission_

The days had only gotten hotter as the summer wore on, and from what Harry could hear on the news, it was much worse than the previous summer. It was hot and sticky outside, and Harry could feel the sweat running down his back and sticking to the back of his shirt. But it really didn't matter to him anymore; nothing really mattered, now that had lost Sirius. _If I had tried harder in Occlumency... If I hadn't have been so stupid, Sirius would still be alive_, he thought for the thousandth time that summer. _If Dumbledore..._ In fury, he kicked his bed and stumbled, now with an aching toe. It was so frustrating, especially since he was still being kept in the dark by the Order.

"Boy! Get down here!" He heard his uncle call. Sighing, Harry stood up and headed out of his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He walked down the stairs slowly only to come face to face with his uncle. "When are those... those _people_ coming to get you?" He asked, almost excitedly. Harry rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes.

"Sometime soon, that's all I know." He said softly. Uncle Vernon rolled his eyes and turned away.

"All I need is a straight answer." He said while walking away. "Damn, we're never getting rid of you..." He was mumbling to himself now, and Harry, rolling his eyes, turned and walked out of the house. Walking down the street, he came across the same park bench from the first time he ever saw Sirius. His eyes watered and he pushed the tears away, sniffling. _Why did he have to die?_ ...That was the question that had haunted him all summer. Why? Why did anyone have to die, though? Why did his parents have to die? Everything he'd ever had or ever wanted had been ripped from him. It was like watching someone tear out his heart and slowly break it apart.

It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair, and the only person Harry could blame (other than himself) was Albus Dumbledore. Yes, if Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy, Sirius would still be alive. If Dumbledore had kept him informed rather than push him away, Harry would not be mourning Sirius' death. But did Harry's pain really matter to anyone but himself? It couldn't possibly; the rest of the world either looked at him as a deranged lunatic or the savior, their only way of survival. Everything rested on Harry; everyone's lives rested upon his shoulders. Every muggle, every witch and wizard, every bloody creature on this damned earth had their lives unknowingly placed in Harry's hands, and the more he thought about it, the more Harry just wanted to kill himself right then and there. No one bothered to help him with his pain, no one bothered to write and apologize, to ask him how he was doing, to even act as though they were_ friends_ of his. Maybe they were worried that he just wanted alone time, which Harry didn't deny that he liked.

Sighing, Harry sat down on the bench and just sprawled out on it, feeling very lonely. No one would have guessed that it was his birthday, his sixteenth birthday, no less. Slowly, Harry began to drift off into sleep...

"Harry! Wake up!" He heard a familiar, gruff voice say. Someone was shaking him roughly and slowly, and he opened his eyes. It took him a moment for his eyes to focus, but when they did, he looked up to the smiling face of Hagrid.

"Hagrid, how are you?" Harry asked tiredly.

"Jus' fine, Harry, jus' fine." Hagrid clapped him on the back. "Come on, Harry, we've got ourselves a mission from the Order!" Harry shook his head dazedly.

"What?"

"A mission! Come on, we've got ter' go!" Hagrid grabbed Harry and pulled him off his feet.

"Will I need to pack anything, Hagrid?"

"No, we'll be going there every other day, just to check up on 'er." Harry was nearly jogging to keep up with Hagrid's large strides.

"Her?" Hagrid nodded. "Her who?"

"Can' say it here, Harry. I'll tell you when we get there." Hagrid stopped suddenly and looked around the street. "Where is it... where is it..."

"Where's what?"

"Portkey, need to find it... Ah, there it is. Take a hold of it now, Harry." It was a crumpled up, old flier bearing the words "Psychology Club Meeting at Number 8 Fawcett Drive on Friday the 8th at 6:00." Harry laughed a little and picked it up with Hagrid. "3...2...1... here we go!"

Harry felt the familiar jerk and was pulled forward into the howling wind and color...

He landed with a thud in the middle of a forest. "Hagrid, where are we?"

"America, in Scottsdale."

"America?" Harry was shocked. "What could possibly be in America?"

"Her." Hagrid grunted, and pointed ahead of them. Harry looked up and nearly gasped. A girl was sitting on the edge of a cliff and just staring at the slowly sinking sun, playing her guitar.

"Don't hold yourself like that, 'cause you'll hurt your knees. Well I kissed your mouth and back; that's all I need. Don't build your world around; volcanoes melt you down. What I am to you is not real. What I am to you, you do not need. And what I am to you is not what you mean to me; you give me miles and miles of mountains and I ask for the sea..." She sang to herself.

"She's really good." Harry breathed. "What's her name?"

"Willow."

"Why is she important?" Harry had said that last bit too loudly and she stopped. Setting her guitar down, she turned her magnificent body around and stood up. Long black hair framed a pale white face with large rose-red lips and large, bright green eyes. Her nose was bold, but it fit her well. She was very thin, too thin, perhaps, but still with plenty of curves. Harry couldn't help but noticed how developed she was in... some places, and how he would be taller than her by a head and a half, were they standing side by side. Though he had grown a lot, it still gave him a jittery feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of being taller than quite a few others.

"Is someone there?" She called hesitantly. Her voice shook slightly, but it was a cold, distant voice. There was no love or warmth in her eyes or face. Harry and Hagrid remained silent. Harry suppressed the urge to laugh—her accent was hilarious! Willow shrugged and sat back down, watching the end of the magnificent sunset.

"Look at that sunset, Hagrid! It's fantastic!" Hagrid smiled.

"Right you are, Harry, right you are..."

"So... why is she important?" Hagrid took a deep breath and spoke quietly to me.

"Willow En Daelin—her over there—was born ter Devin and Moira Daelin on the 4th of August, 16 years ago. Devin Daelin had been a werewolf—known only to the Ministry of Magic and himself, a'course—for many years before his daughter was born. It was only jus' before the wedding of Moira and Devin that he told his beloved bride-to-be what he was. Moira, bein' a very sweet and unprejudiced witch (not ter mention head over heals in love) didn' care and married him anyways. And so, when their first daughter was born, they knew that they had to be careful, especially at the time of the full moon. So they moved ter' the near top of the mountain next to the town of Scottsdale so that Devin wouldn't hurt anyone. Every full moon, Moira would help Devin lock himself up to a tree, and there he would be until moonset. As the years went by, the two remained in love, and everyone remained unhurt. But one night, a few weeks after Willow had turned 5 years old, Devin broke free from his prison and came across little Willow laying outside, watching the stars. Devin had only just turned into a werewolf, and Willow had seen 'im only moments before as her daddy. She watched 'im turn into a monster and screamed when he came chasin' 'er. So she ran into this forest and hid for many days, until she was sure her daddy wasn' mad at her no more. After that, Devin decided that he was much to dangerous to be around his precious daughter, so he found some very old, very powerful, ancient magic, and drained his daughter of her magical powers, as well as her being a half-werewolf! But now, the Death Eaters are after 'im and he begged Dumbledore to keep an eye on his little girl. He told Dumbledore that one day, very soon, he was going to release her powers back to 'er. She'll be very weak when he gives 'em back to 'er, and she'll be in a lot o' pain. Her dad'll die righ' afterwards."

"Okay... so she's half werewolf. What else makes her important?"

"Blimey, Harry! Her father asked Dumbledore to watch 'er and that's what we'll do! Not on'y that, but you-know-who is going ter be after her as payback for her father. We can' let that happen, Harry, we jus' can'."

"Anything else?"

"Well, except for the fact that she's half werewolf and you-know-who's after her an' all, I don't know."

"What's so special about being half werewolf?"

"Nuthin, Harry. It's a horrible life; you never really know what you are. They're really rare; you won't find many people keen on marrying a werewolf. And because the molecules of the werewolf aren't complete, it changes the properties of their body. They become awfully paranoid, Harry. Think the whole world is out ter get 'em. It's awful sad, it really is, Harry. They also tend to become the opposite of a regular wolf, or even a werewolf. Love bein' alone. Two's a crowd for a half wolf. They aren't afraid of humans when they're in their wolf form, and they'll attack if they want to. They also have an... undying? No... unquenchable, tha's it, thirst for blood; they call it bloodlust. Half wolves can change into a wolf at will at any point in time. Doesn't have to be a full moon for 'em ter do it, Harry. But if they change once, they have to change at least twice a month, every month, otherwise they die. And in their wolf forms, they have to hunt down somethin', doesn' matter what, so long as they do. Then, they have ter devour it and drink in all of the animal's blood. It's a bit sick, Harry; it's a horrible way ter live. They could kill anythin', their best friend even, and they wouldn' know it till mornin' when they woke up beside the body. They have no idea what they're doin' in their wolf form. They say it gets better as time goes on, that they start havin' control, but it's doubtful. I might be missin' other things, but I dunno."

"Could... could Voldemort—stop Hagrid, you'd better start saying his name too—use Willow?"

"When she's a wolf?" Harry nodded. "It's very possible, Harry, he rightly well could. Good at manipulation, that one. Plus, I think the Imperius Curse'd help a bit; wouldn't need to waste any time convincing or manipulating with that one. Of course, it'd take a bit of time a'fore he could actually use her, even under the Imperius Curse. It'd take 'er a bit o' time to control 'er powers. Maybe he'd control her in 'er sleep. In their human form, they're very deep sleepers. He could probably make 'er change whenever he wanted to. Poor thing..." Harry sat in thought as he watched the girl slowly stand up and stare at the sunset, her hair blowing in the wind. _God, she's beautiful_.

"It isn't fair." Harry said quietly. "She should be allowed to live a free and happy life; she shouldn't have to worry about being a half werewolf or about Voldemort or anything."

"None of us should, Harry. None of us should."

"She's so beautiful." He whispered wistfully. The girl turned to face their direction, and laughing, she fell down and stared at the stars, still giggling. "She shouldn't be alone all the time."

"That's what she wants though, Harry. That's what she wants."

"No, that's what the wolf inside of her wants. She's really just a regular girl; everyone wants to have someone." He stared at her as she pulled out her guitar again.

"Alright, what shall I play now?" She asked herself. "Hm... how about... 'Love' by Kenny Loggins?" She stared off into space for a while, and slowly smiled. "Yes... I feel I need an explanation on what love is, especially since Mother thinks otherwise... 'Love is wanting to _be_ with that person, Willow!'" She complained. "Honestly... I love her, but it's not like I want to be with her _all_ the time... 'You sit alone all the time, Willow! It scares me!' It scares her? Being alone? God..." Willow sat there muttering to herself for a few minutes before she changed her mind. "I'd rather play 'The Horses' by Kenny right now. Not in the mood for 'Love'..."

"We will fly way up high

Where the cool winds blow

Or in the sun laughing having fun

With all the people that we know

If the situation should keep us separated

I know the world won't fall apart

You will free the beautiful bird

Caught inside your heart

Can you see her oh she flies so proud

Cast her wild wings over water and cloud

That's the way it's gonna be little darling

You'll go riding on the horses

Way up to the sky little darling

If you fall I'll pick you up, pick you up

You will grow until you go

I'll be right there by your side

And even then a whisper the wind

And she will carry up your life

I hear all the people of the world

In my one bird's lonely cry

I see them trying every way they know how

To make their spirits fly

Can you see her moonlight in her eye

Coming from under my wing

You were born to fly

That's the way it's gonna be, little darling

You'll go riding on the horses

Way up to the sky little darling

If you fall I'll pick you up, pick you up"

Harry listened to the girl's beautiful voice and perfect guitar playing and started crying silently. The song was so... meaningful. It was something he wished someone would sing to him. It was times like these when Harry truly missed his parents and... Sirius. Harry rarely ever cried, except when thinking about Sirius. Every once in a while, when he was feeling extremely emotional, he cried about his parents, wondering how two people could love a child so much, a child who they'd only known for a year, how they had loved him enough to die for him. Now they'd never see him grow up, or hear about his first kiss (he grimaced as the name "Cho" flashed in his head), or about the first time he flew on a broomstick... It made him feel sick, just thinking about it.

Out of nowhere, Willow stood up and began pulling at her hair, screaming. "Hagrid?" Harry asked nervously.

"Shh... Harry, just watch."

"It's not fair!" She screamed. "Everyone gets to keep their daddy's; why couldn't I keep mine? It's not fair!" She was stomping and thrashing around, beating her delicate fists on the nearest tree. "And she doesn't even love me!" She wailed, tears pouring down her face. "She _never_ loved me! It's always about _Ren_, or it was about _Father_. And every time she looks at me I can see her disappointment! It's in _every Goddamn line of her face!_ And she ignores me... and she hates me, I'm just an extra mouth to feed... Father would have loved me... He would have taken care of me... but no, he left... they all leave... and I sit here all alone... I'm so unloved..." She dissolved into tears and slid down to the ground, sobbing. "It's not fair..." Willow cried into her hands. Harry made a move to go and comfort her, but Hagrid held him back.

"Hagrid!" He whispered, sharply. "Let go!"

"No, Harry. We're just supposed to watch 'er." Willow sat on the ground, one leg spread out behind her on either side, tears pouring down her face. She hiccoughed and wiped the tears off of her face.

"Only babies cry..." She muttered, straightening slightly, before again collapsing into tears. "Daddy didn't care... He didn't care... No one'll pick m-me up... even though I've fallen..." It was at least 20 minutes later when her tears finally stopped. She lay still. A cold wind blew and Harry shivered.

"Isn't she cold, Hagrid?"

"Freezin', Harry. She'll be freezing."

"Is she asleep?"

"Yeah," Hagrid nodded, and took off his coat. "Go put that on 'er." Harry nodded nervously, and quietly walked over to where the sleeping girl lay. Carefully, he laid the heavy coat on her, and her shivering subsided. Harry sat next to her and watched her, studying every line of her perfect face. He wanted to touch her, he couldn't help it, the urge was so strong, and he reached out and touched her cold porcelain face. It was smooth and soft, and Harry sighed contentedly.

"Harry?" Hagrid called quietly. Harry turned and looked at Hagrid who was standing between the trees. "Is she still cold?" Harry lifted up the coat a little and touched her arm.

"As ice," He whispered back.

"Well then, go on and lay beside her." Harry looked back confused, and saw a mischievous twinkle in Hagrid's crinkled black eyes. Nodding, Harry crawled in next to her and tentatively wrapped an arm around her waist. Willow sighed happily and rolled over, facing Harry. She mumbled something in her sleep and crawled up closer to Harry, grabbing a hold of his waist and pulling herself closer into his chest. Harry's heart was beating faster than it ever had before, and he looked up at Hagrid.

"Rub her back!" He mouthed. Harry nodded weakly, and began to do so.

"Mm..." She said, moaning a little. Harry ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed contentedly. She completely melted into his arms and he held her while she slept. Harry watched her sleep, running his fingers slowly and lightly down the side of her face, studying every line, wiping away every tear. The night wore on, and a few hours later, Harry awoke to realize that the sun was rising.

"Harry!" Hagrid called softly. "You have to move! She'll be up soon!" Harry looked up and nodded, slowly pulling apart from Willow. Willow, however, didn't like this, and smacked his arm and pulled herself closer. He laughed quietly as she nuzzled her head into his chest.

"She won't let me go!" Harry called back to Hagrid. Hagrid laughed and walked over, sending small tremors through the ground. He carefully pulled back the covers and tried untangling her arms from Harry's body.

"No, no, no!" She said softly and held on. "I won't let you go... too..." She murmured, and sighed. "Mm... smell... good..." Harry blushed and Hagrid laughed, slowly removing her arms from Harry. He pulled Harry up to his feet before she could grab him again. Hagrid pulled his coat off of her and put it on. They slowly backed away into the woods, hidden from view, when Willow woke up. She looked around, her eyes bleary, and looked for Harry desperately.

"Where'd you go?" She called. "I know someone was here..." She sat up and hugged herself. "Why does everyone have to leave me all alone?" A single tear slid down her face and landed on the ground with a splat. Harry grimaced and looked up at Hagrid.

"I thought you said she liked being alone."

"She does; why else would she come out ter this same spot by herself every day?" Harry looked over at Willow. She sat there, staring at the water, hugging her knees up to her chest.

"I know there was someone here." She said to herself. She giggled. "Whoever it was smelled good... and they were strong... yes, they were strong." Hagrid chuckled and Harry blushed again. Willow sighed to herself. "And they held me... no one's held me before." She looked down at the ground. "It felt good. They were warm; I feel warm." She giggled and stood up, still laughing to herself. "Well, I better go home and shower... or maybe..." She looked around deviously and took off to her right.

"Come on, Harry!" Hagrid picked him up and ran off after Willow, who wound her way through the trees and right into a foul-smelling swamp. Hagrid stopped there and he and Harry watched as she ran from stone to stone through the center of the bog. "I er... I can' follow her, Harry. You're gonna have ter go. Jus'—jus' watch her. Don't let her out of your sight if you can help it. She could be kidnapped jus' like that (he snapped) by a Death Eater." He set Harry down and Harry looked nervously at the huge swamp. "Jus'—jus' run as fast as you can and you'll be fine." Harry nodded and, heart beating, ran across the large swamp, almost jumping from stone to stone as he ran. At the end, he took a huge leap and landed flat on his face on the bank. Harry stood up and brushed himself off, and walked forward. He found himself in a small clearing with a huge tree dead center. There was a cross carved onto the tree, and Harry wondered why it was there. Perhaps she was religious?

Harry continued walked straight, to the right of the cross, and heard her laughing in the distance. Pushing away tree branches and leaves, he saw her sitting on the edge of a creek, her bare feet dangling in the cold water. Slowly, she stood up and pulled off her black tank top, revealing a lacy pink bra. Harry just stared. Willow then pulled off her black pants to reveal matching pink panties. He looked away, embarrassed at seeing that, and then heard her splash in the water. Willow yelped and Harry looked up immediately, afraid that someone else was there, hurting her.

"I-It's f-freezing!" She yelped again, giggling._ Jus'—jus' watch her. Don't let her out of your sight if you can help it._Though her back was to him, Harry could tell she was no longer wearing her pink bra, and he goggled at her perfect form. She swept her long hair out of the way and dunked into the water. As she arose, the small droplets fell from her body and sparkled, the sun now illuminating her body. Harry felt his heart jump into his throat, and his stomach was filled with butterflies. "God it's cold in here..." She shivered a little, but continued to wash herself and splash around.

"Hurry up..." Harry mumbled. "Before Hagrid comes and thinks I'm some dirty little boy..."

"Okay, I'm done." She announced to herself, and Harry closed his eyes as she hopped out of the water. He could hear her rustling around with her clothes, and he opened his eyes to see her fully clothed, but putting on her shoes. She was quite the colorful thing, he noted, seeing her mismatched, purple and shocking pink socks (_Dobby would be proud_, Harry thought to himself), a neon green shirt, black knee-length pants, and yellow converse shoes. He rubbed his eyes, and watched her as she squeezed the water out of her long, black, waist-length hair. She began walking away back towards the clearing where the large tree was. Turning and abrupt left from there, she wove her way in and out of trees and finally, out of the woods. After following her so he knew where to find her, ran back to the bog and yelled across to Hagrid.

"Hagrid! She left the forest! Do I follow her?"

"Yeah! Go! I'll come get you in a half an hour!" Harry nodded and ran back to the edge of the forest and walked out, following her home. They came to a small slope and began walking up it, Harry following, but at least 40 or 50 paces behind her. Every once in a while, he'd dart into a nearby bush, as she often looked behind her, paranoid. Finally, he followed her to a little cottage and noticed that he was quite high up the mountain. He peeked into the window of the cottage and watched her greet a beautiful, nymph-like woman with a simple nod and a grimace. A man walked into the small room and kissed the woman (who Harry had guessed was Willow's mother from their similar faces and bright green eyes) and said something in an exuberant manner to Willow. She merely looked up and glared at him, said something snappily to her mother, and walked out of the room.

"Willow!" He heard her mother yell. "Get back in here and apologize!"

"No!" She yelled back. Her mother followed her daughter out of the small room and tried opening a door.

"Willow En Daelin! Unlock this door right now or you're in big trouble!"

"Don't care!" Willow yelled back. Her mother sighed and walked back into the kitchen.

"Harry, it's time to go." Harry jumped, turning to see Hagrid. He handed him a broken pencil. "3...2...1..." The familiar jerk behind his navel pulled him forward into the howling wind and swirling colors.


	6. Aboard The Hogwarts Express

A/N: ...I still have no readers, reviewers, or raters. I am very depressed. Even so, I'm going to be nice and give you a long chapter even though this specified 'you' does not EXIST, for in fact, I am talking to ME as I am the only one who reads my story grumbles something angrily. Anyways, here it is. Hopefully someone will read it and enjoy other than myself. Hmph.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters.

_Chapter 6: Aboard the Hogwarts Express_

When Harry hit the ground, he realized that he was back at the park, and that the sun had just set for the second time that... night? Harry didn't try thinking about it, as his head was spinning enough as it was from the portkey. Hagrid picked him up and set his feet on the ground.

"Thanks, Hagrid." Harry said, laughing. "I've never been too good with portkey landings..." At that thought, Harry's heart seemed to drop into the pit of his stomach. _Cedric..._ Hagrid noticed his change of face and patted him on the back, sending Harry to his knees. Harry stood up slowly and looked up at Hagrid.

"It wasn' your fault, Harry. It wasn' your fault." Harry nodded.

"I know... But I can't help feeling guilty that I got out and he didn't." Hagrid smiled at him.

"It'll get better, trust me, Harry. It gets better. In the mean time, you might wanna get home before the muggles get too upset, right?" Harry nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow." Harry began walking back towards the Dursley's when he heard Hagrid call him back. "By the way Harry, happy birthday." He pulled out a thick wad of letters, most in Ron Weasley's untidy scrawl and Hermione Granger's tiny, neat handwriting, a large birthday cake, and several wrapped packages. He handed them to Harry and smiled. "Go on home, now." Hagrid pulled an enormous motorbike out from behind the bushes, revved it up, and took off on the street, grumbling loudly. As Harry watched, it began to—Harry grinned—_fly_. With that, Harry continued to walk home and got there surprisingly quickly, even covered by so many packages.

"Where have you been all day?" His uncle asked as he walked through the door.

"America." Harry answered shortly and walked up to his bedroom, leaving his uncle standing there, flabbergasted. Harry dumped the pile of objects onto his bed and began tearing open the letters.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled and he ran up the stairs and forced the door open. "Where have you been?" Harry forced down a smile and stared up at his uncle almost defiantly.

"Like I said, America. In a small town called 'Scottsdale', I believe." Harry said innocently. Uncle Vernon's mustache bristled and his face swelled slightly, turning a plum purple.

"Now you listen to me, boy! I want the truth!"

"And I've given you the truth, twice already! So if you don't mind, I have some letters to read and a few presents to open." Harry pulled out one by Ron, dating back to the third of July.

_Dear Harry,_

_Dad says that you're still with the muggles. How're they treating you? Better be good because I hear Moody's dying to hex at least one of them, and you know how Moody hexes... If he weren't good, he wouldn't be an Auror!_

_Have you gotten your O.W.L. results back yet? Mine haven't come back, but Hermione's have and she's giving me a headache with all of her gloating. If she didn't know twice as many curses and counter curses as I did, I'd have hexed her just to get her to shut up for a little while. She got all E's and O's, and it's enough to make me sick. Mum's been boasting about her as well to all who haven't heard, which is a grand total of NO ONE, these days._

_No one will tell us what's going on in the Order, but we do know about a new mission they're setting up. It's really secret; they're not telling a soul about it. All I know is that Hagrid's going to be in it, and it's going to be such a trip, they're using portkeys! Thanks to Fred and George's Extendable Ears, we do know that they're watching something or someone, and due to the sensitivity of whoever it is and the secrecy of the mission, they aren't allowed to apparate there. That's all we know, though, seeing as how mum caught us then and hauled us back to our rooms to give us a good talking to._

_At the moment, yes, we're at Sirius' house, and it's actually looking quite nice, now, but empty. It seems a bit lonely... How are you holding up, mate? Don't let it get to you, and I hope to see you soon—_

_Ron_

Harry smiled sadly to himself and opened another, dating to July 5.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I'm doing very well myself. All O's and E's for me! Have you gotten your results back? I expected to do well, but not this well! Ron said he's already told you my scores, but I figured I might as well tell you myself. Ron's scores came today and he didn't do quite as well as he expected to, but he still did much better than either Fred or George did, which makes Mrs. Weasley feel much better._

_It's really weird being back at Sirius' house; I honestly don't know how much longer I can stand it. I wish you were here, it just doesn't feel right without you?_

_Have you heard about the mission? I wonder what they're guarding—I know it can't be you, because it's so low profile, I doubt even You-Know-Who knows what it is. Ron's probably told you all about that too—is there anything he _hasn't _told you? I very much doubt that._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

A small smile lit Harry's face at knowing that he was slightly part of the Order. Maybe not a full member yet, but he was important enough to get to take on a mission of importance. He wondered how Willow was doing and smiled, almost embarrassed, at the memory of holding her all night. The same butterflies were in his stomach as the ones that used to flutter every time he saw Cho Chang, his former crush and girlfriend.

.

Harry had come to enjoy visiting Willow, though he never spoke to her face to face. Every day, he'd meet Hagrid early in the morning by the park, and, using the portkey, would go back to "Willow's Grove", as Harry had begun calling it. There, he'd watch Willow do silly tricks, like handstands and round-offs, as well as flips. She'd climb up trees and hang upside down on the branches, giggling to herself, before swinging down so only her hands would be holding the branch, and she'd swing around the branch in a circle, legs pointed up and straight, and she'd swing off, flipping, and land perfectly on the ground. Each time, Harry would tense as she flipped, afraid she'd hurt herself by landing wrong. It amazed Harry; she must've been a gymnast at her school. But then, even though she wasn't very tall, she wasn't short enough to be one. Whenever she got really bored or tired, she pulled out her acoustic guitar and would start playing something. Every day was a new tune, and they were always perfect. In the night, she'd start talking to herself and point out something new about her surroundings, something she hadn't noticed before. Then, she'd fall asleep, freezing in the cold, and every night Harry would lay with her underneath Hagrid's huge coat. In the morning, with increasing difficulty, he'd untangle her arms from around his waist, neck, or back, and take the coat with him. Every morning, she'd wake up as soon as he left, look around for him, and sigh in annoyance at losing him once again.

Finally, September 1st came, and Harry found himself back at Kings Cross Station, leaning up against the barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10. Checking around to make sure that no one was looking, he slid through the barrier, dragging his things with him.

"Harry!" He heard a familiar voice call. "Harry, over here!" He turned to find Ron Weasley waving at him frantically over by the train. It was hard to miss him; it appeared that Ron had grown more than a few inches over the summer, so he was even more tall and gangly than usual. He had a long nose, a very freckled face, and flaming red hair. His sister, Ginny, with her own head of flaming red hair, was standing beside Ron, waving at Harry as well.

"Come on, Harry!" She hollered. "The train is going to be leaving any minute!" Harry rushed over, pushing through the throng of people, and found himself at their side. "Hermione's saving us a seat, let's find her!" They clambered on to the train and went looking in each compartment until they found Hermione, nose buried in a new book called, "Ministry of Magic: Law Makers Or Slave Drivers?" Harry stifled back a laugh; she was researching the enslavement of the House Elves (who actually _liked_ being enslaved, oddly enough) for S.P.E.W., The Society of the Promotion of Elfish Welfare (a sort of... club she started). Harry and Ron thought she was bonkers, as did everyone else who had her collecting tin shoved under their nose, but they all loved her and put up with her.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Hermione asked, finally looking up from the pages of her beloved book. Hermione had grown little over the summer, still only reaching to about his chest, but at least her hair had finally tamed. No longer a bushy mess, her chestnut brown hair now cascaded down her back in thick (but tame) curls. Her brown eyes regarded him kindly, an almost maternal glow about them as she gazed at him. She looked a bit nervous, but Harry didn't try to soothe her with his answer. Instead, he just shrugged. "Wasn't there anything interesting about it?" She asked, a little more nervously.

"No, it was the same as always. What about yours?" Harry stared at her intently and watched her face soften. He saw her blink back fresh tears and she regarded him a little stiffly.

"It was lonely, very lonely, especially with the absence of your return letters, Harry." She said very pointedly. He sighed, almost dejectedly.

"Sorry about that. I didn't receive the letters until a couple of weeks ago, and even when I did, the Order told me that 'it was in my best interest _not_ to reply.'" Ron turned and gazed at him questioningly.

"When did you get visits from the Order?" His brown eyes looked at him suspiciously, and Harry quickly came up with a lie.

"Just when I received the letters." He said, telling a half-truth. Ginny looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"How was America?" She asked softly. Harry's head shot up and stared at her, almost furiously. He quickly calmed and forced out a weak laugh.

"What are you talking about?" He smiled at them. "I've never been to America. The furthest from home I've ever been was to Hogwarts, or maybe to that little rock island just before my first year..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. The three of them glared at him just before Ron opened his mouth.

"We're not stupid, Harry." Harry looked up at him, anger flickering into his gaze.

"I never said that you were, Ron." Harry said, annoyed. Hermione sighed exasperatedly.

"Honestly, Harry, did you honestly think that we wouldn't find out? It doesn't take extendable ears to hear everything that goes on in Sirius' old house." Harry felt a pang of anger and hurt, just at the mention of Sirius' name. He blinked back hot tears and turned away from them all. _My fault... it was all my fault..._

"Harry?" He heard Ginny say softly. He felt her hand on his shoulder, but he jerked it away and curled up into a miserable ball. "Please don't blame yourself for what happened; we're sorry we brought it up." _If only I had studied harder... if I had tried to block out those damn dreams..._ A tear slid down Harry's cheek and landed on his left shoe. _And they expect me to save the world... how can anyone expect me, a stupid sixteen year-old boy, to save the world? It's not fair... I don't have my parents, I don't have Sirius, and I don't have a life of my own; just a bunch of stupid prophecies. It's not fair!_ Harry sniffed angrily and banged his head softly on the compartment door.

"Harry?" He heard Ron ask, tentatively. Wiping at his cheek, he sat up and stared at them, defiantly.

"What?" He asked coldly. Ron shifted uncomfortably, and Harry saw both Ginny and Hermione wince slightly.

"Um, could you... I mean, would it be possible... oh alright, will you please tell us why you were in America?" Harry sighed, even more annoyed. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all stared at him worriedly.

"I was... taking care of something. Watching over something. Guarding it, I suppose..." He said shortly, not looking at any of them. Hermione cleared her throat before speaking.

"What were you guarding?" She asked hesitantly. When he didn't answer, she let out a strangled cry, caught between exasperation and curiosity. "Harry, we've never hidden anything from you! Please, we won't tell anyone, anyone at all!" She pulled out her wand and Harry threw his arms over his face as a shield, but then she muttered the Silencing charm to keep eavesdroppers from listening at the door instead. "No one can hear you except for us, Harry." Harry rolled his eyes.

"A girl." He said simply. They all stared at him.

"That's all? Just a girl?" Ron asked.

"Nothing special about her at all?" Ginny's voice shook with curiosity.

"Why does it matter? Now you know what I was taking care of." Harry said sharply. Ron and Ginny flinched, but Hermione glowered at him.

"Stop taking that tone with us, Harry Potter. We've been nothing but loyal friends to you, so quit treating us like we're in a war against you." Harry hesitated, and finally nodded.

"Her name is Willow." He said softly. "She's half werewolf." They all gasped and stared at him in shock.

"Why, there hasn't been a half wolf in well over 300 years!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry nodded. "Who would be willing to take the risk of having a child with a werewolf?"

"Willow's mother, Moira." Harry said, staring at his feet. Ron nudged him and he looked up. "She's really beautiful, you know." He said to himself, even more softly. "Absolutely lovely." Ron let out a loud laugh, and the girls exchanged grins. Harry stared at Ron angrily. "What?" Ron let out another hoot of laughter before calming down enough to answer him.

"You like her!"

"I do not!" Harry retorted, his eyes flashing.

"Fine then, describe her for us." Hermione said with her arms crossed at her chest, the corners of her mouth twitching into a small smile.

"Well, she has long, straight, perfectly beautiful black hair—same color as mine, but it isn't at all messy—and these absolutely gorgeous, angelic green eyes as bright as mine! Willow... her face is marvelous, including those full, red lips, but her body...oh God, it's perfect, it's..." He stopped abruptly, blushing. Stuttering, he switched the topic away from her body. "And she's incredible at the guitar—I mean, you won't believe it! The one thing I can think when listening to her play is '_wicked_', because she's _wicked awesome_! Her voice is spectacular... it's like... it's like _oxygen_, her voice and her guitar; you have to keep listening, you can't let it stop otherwise you just... choke..." His voice faded and he began to blush even more horribly than before. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron burst out laughing and Harry glowered at them, still red in the face. "What?"

"You make her sound like a goddess!" Ginny gasped out, still laughing. "As if she's _absolutely_ perfect!"

"But she's not! No one's perfect!" Harry shot back, trying to hold onto the last of his dignity.

"Oh yeah? Then what's wrong with her?" Ron laughed.

"She's a bitter person, alright?" They quieted down. "Willow's a very angry, bitter person because of her past." He leaned his head up against the compartment door. "She's so lonely, you know?" Harry whispered. "Her father had to leave when she was 5 because as a werewolf, he tried to kill her." The other three gasped and listened to Harry intently, horrified expressions on their faces. "He broke free from his chains and she had to run into the woods until she believed he was okay to be around. He left, not much later. Willow convinced herself that it was her fault and so she believes herself to be unlovable." He heaved out a great sigh. "Her mother doesn't pay much attention to her, always focusing on her new husband, Ren. Willow hates Ren, and because she doesn't get paid attention to (except for negative attention), she stays in her secret spot all day and usually, all night." Hermione and Ginny looked at him sorrowfully while Ron stared at his feet, a mixture of disgust and shock on his face. "She talks to herself, a lot." Harry said thoughtfully. "It's quite interesting and sad, really. She just voices her opinions and thoughts out loud, rather than just... thinking them. The first time I went to watch over her, she was complaining that her mother said that she didn't know what love was. After she played a rather beautiful song, she started screaming and yelling about how unfair it was that her father left." He closed his eyes remembering the pain and anger on her face. "She started crying, saying that her mother doesn't love her and that her father didn't either... she-she cried herself to sleep." Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

"That's horrible..." Ginny said softly. Harry nodded glumly, opening his eyes.

"She's just a girl who has never experienced love..." He said softly. They all stared at him. "It just seems so familiar, doesn't it?" He asked them. "No love in her childhood, no love in mine? Rough times ahead for her, rough times ahead for me? It just... maybe I'm looking for some sort of connection, I don't know..." Hermione smiled at him.

"That just means that you like her. You want to find some common ground; that's natural. You want to identify feelings and thoughts with her, and that just means that you want to understand her and yourself a little better." Harry stared at Hermione, bewildered. While Hermione sighed in frustration, Ginny giggled.

"What she's trying to say," Ginny said, smiling at him. "Is that—without realizing it—you're trying to find things that you have in common with her; almost like trying to find more reasons why you would make a good couple..." She giggled again and Ron burst out laughing, finally breaking from the trance of him staring at his shoes, upset.

"I am not!" Harry said indignantly, which only made Hermione laugh as well.

"Harry, you are. It's cute, really it is; it just means that you really, _really_ like her." She tilted her head to the side and stared at him thoughtfully. "When will you see her again?" Ron smirked at him and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Tonight." Ginny and Hermione smiled at him secretively while Ron just clapped him on the back.

"Well, you go get her, mate!" He grinned cheekily at him.

"But I haven't even _talked_ to her yet." Harry said pointedly. "I'm not allowed to. She's not even supposed to see me or know I'm there!" Hermione looked at him, confused.

"But Harry, surely she knows that someone's been watching her. She's a half wolf; she can smell and hear you."

"No, she can't. Her father took away her powers and her half wolf blood just before he left, using ancient magic. But very soon, he's going to release the powers back to her, even though it'll kill him in the process. According to Hagrid--" Hermione let out a cry like a startled animal.

"Hagrid's a part of this?" She squawked. "That's ridiculous! She could see him through the trees or _over_ the trees, for goodness sake! How could Dumbledore make such a stupid move?"

"She hasn't seen him yet, Hermione; he's been doing a very good job at staying hidden. I've pretty much had to do all of the dirty work." He immediately regretted what he had said, because instantaneously, they all began asking him what he meant by that. "Well—well, you know, following her when she leaves her secret place, keeping her warm while she sleeps--"

"What?!" They all exclaimed at once. Harry sighed.

"It's much colder towards the top of a mountain than it is on level ground, and she spends her nights out in the freezing cold. Hagrid's coat isn't enough, so Hagrid makes me hold her while she sleeps." Ron grinned at him slyly while Ginny cooed about how romantic it was. Hermione was smiling to herself.

"Yes, and that would work perfectly, wouldn't it?" She said to herself.

"What would?"

"While she no longer has the ability to transform into a wolf or take on most of the half wolf traits, she _would_ be a deep sleeper, wouldn't she? And while she may crave love and attention, she does prefer to be alone, does she not? She's also very paranoid about her parents not loving her... Yes, yes that makes perfect sense." She smiled triumphantly at nothing and then looked at Ron, who was still grinning at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"Are _you_ warm when you're holding her?" He asked.

"Of course; we _are_ both underneath Hagrid's coat, after all. Besides that, body heat is... well, quite warm." He said, shrugging uncomfortably. Harry smiled to himself. "She's really funny when it comes time for me to leave her. She never wants to let me go! She just keeps clinging onto me for dear life, always muttering about not wanting to be alone anymore and about how good I smell." He flushed at the last part; he didn't mean to say it, it just sort of... slipped out. While Ron and Ginny grinned, Hermione just sat there, elbow resting on her knee, head rested on her hand, and her fingers drumming the side of her face.

"Well, that would also make sense, Harry."

"How?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"A half wolf's sense of smell is the strongest of their five senses. With it, they can smell more than just lilacs and garbage miles away; they can smell good and evil, emotions, personality traits and disorders, and they never forget your scent. Willow may not have that kind of strength with her sense of smell, but she can still sense those sorts of things when you're up close to her. She must like your smell, Harry, whatever it is. It probably comforts her, if she never wants to let you go." Harry flushed an even deeper red, but Ron patted him on the back.

"I uh... I think I'll go buy some food..." Harry stuttered.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, with simple fun from jabs about Harry and Willow to other hinted accusations of a relationship between Hermione and Ron. Luckily, there were no run-ins with Draco Malfoy, Harry's archrival, so Harry spent the trip to Hogwarts smiling and having a relatively good time.

Hogwarts looked the exact same as it had the year before, as it did every year. The portraits still waved at Harry jauntily, the suits of armor were still quite dirty, and the Welcoming Feast in the Great Hall was as impressive as ever. Harry looked up at the staff table, and to his joy, spotted Professor Lupin sitting between Hagrid and Professor Vector. "Look Hermione, Ron, it's Lupin!" Professor Lupin spotted them and waved at them, pausing to give Harry a sympathetic smile. Harry nodded feebly in return and noticed, much to his displeasure, that Professor Snape was still there. He shot Harry a particularly nasty look before returning to his dinner. Harry rolled his eyes and ate in silence, laughing every once in a while at a comment Hermione or Ron made.

"Harry!" He heard Hagrid call. He looked up and saw him grasping an old leather boot in one of his trashcan-lid sized hands. "Come on!" Harry nodded, grinned at his friends, and walked up to meet him. "We'd best be going outside, Harry." Harry nodded absently as they walked out of the Great Hall. "Take one end of it, tha's right... okay in 3...2...1..."

Harry landed with a thud, but this time he wasn't in the forest. In fact, he wasn't anywhere woodsy at all. He was standing outside of a school building next to a window. He peeked inside and spotted Willow sitting somewhere towards the back. She was staring determinedly at the teacher, ignoring the guys throwing paper airplanes at the back of her head. When one blew a spitball at her, she finally stood up. Harry expected her to yell or scream or do _something_, but all she did was walk up to the teacher, request a hall pass, and leave.

"Harry, cast a disillusionment charm on yourself and follow 'er!" Hagrid said from behind him. Harry nodded, pulled out his wand, and cast it. He calmly walked to the front of the school, pushed open the doors, and ran in, searching for Willow. As he turned around a corner, he saw her disappear through a doorway on the right side of the hall. He followed quietly and stepped inside of the girl's lavatory. He almost left, embarrassed, when he saw her sitting against the opposite wall, crying. Harry restrained himself from reaching out to her and pulling her into his arms and kissing her tears away. Just the image sent him blushing (or he would have been, if not for the spell).

"Why do I let them get to me?" She mused. Her lips were pursed together tightly and her eyes leaked out tears of disappointment. She sniffed and wiped them away quickly. "Don't be a baby, it's not like this treatment is new! Only two more years... and then I'm moving as far from here as I can get. And if I can't wait two years, I'll just kill myself. Simple enough." Harry stared at her in shock. Kill herself? If that was a joke, it was a very bad one. If she was serious... He shuddered. Harry took a few steps closer, nearly failing to restrain himself from grabbing a hold of her and shaking her until she forgot these ridiculous ideas. She stopped moving and closed her eyes in deep concentration. "I know that smell..." She said softly. "You're here, aren't you?" Willow looked around the bathroom and her eyes settled on a spot near him. Her eyes narrowed. "I know you're in here. Please come out, please." After a minute or two, she heaved a sigh of disappointment. "I wish I could at least see my guardian angel... The one who has been watching over me and taking care of me this past month." She stomped her foot angrily and blew her hair out of her face. "I know you're in here, angel! I know that smell... that's the smell of the one who has held me as I slept every single night! The one who has been watching me, making sure that I was safe!" When she still got no answer, she kicked the wall so hard that she stumbled back, clutching her foot in pain. "Ow..." She muttered, annoyed. She heaved another sigh of sadness. "It's all in my head, then." She said softly. "My angel was just a character my mind projected to comfort me. Even now, it's all fake..." She wiped at the tears that slid slowly down her face. Willow inspected herself in the mirror and walked out of the bathroom. He followed her as she walked down the hall back into her classroom. He slid in behind her as the door shut.

_We've become careless,_ Harry thought to himself. _Maybe... maybe I could erase bits of those memories. Otherwise, Dumbledore probably won't let us come back,_ Harry thought sadly. He pulled wand out of his pocket, pointed it at Willow, and muttered, "Obliviate." Her eyes widened at first, but then her eyelids drooped almost sleepily and she stared straight ahead, a small dreamy smile on her face. Harry felt her memories rushing through his head, as though he had performed Legilimancy on her, but this time, they whipped by too fast to actually see what was going on. He willed it to slow down and focused on the nights when he slept by her side. He erased the _feeling_ of him holding her, as well as the suspicions she had about someone being there. Harry allowed himself to drift for a moment into her memories...

Five year old Willow was sprinting through the forest as heavy breathing and snarls pursued her. FLASH. –Willow sobbing against the large weeping willow by the stream just after her father had left her. FLASH –Boys were throwing rocks at her at recess, as girls were yelling "witch!" at her, and the playground teachers just watched, smirking for a few minutes before breaking it up. "Why does everyone hate me so much?" 9 year-old Willow asked quietly, her lip bleeding from being shoved to the ground. She was sporting a black eye, and other bruises were just starting to form. FLASH. –"Go to your room, Willow En!" Moira yelled. Scowling, a 13 year-old Willow walked to her room, slammed the door, locked it, and, grabbing her acoustic guitar, she sneaked out of the window. She sprinted into the forest, hurtling over all of the obstacles when she slipped while climbing up the tree. She fell down into the sticker bushes, face turned away and her hands breaking the fall. She was bleeding horribly, and the sticker bushes nearly went through her hands, leaving deep gouges and blood dripping off of her hand. Slowly, she climbed her way out and to her secret place. She rubbed her hands on the grass irritably, yelping in pain, and then quieted, staring at the sky. Harry could feel all of her emotions just... switch off, and could feel the pain in her hand and her head ebb slightly, but both still throbbed. "Just breathe..." She said softly. "It doesn't even hurt anymore... and it's not like anyone ever loved me anyway... does it even exist?" FLASH.  
  
--"Stop talking that way... it scares me; you sound suicidal, almost..." Moira said softly.

"_I'm not suicidal; I just don't care." Willow retorted, her voice monotonous and dull._

"_You can't push everything away, Willow! You have to let yourself feel once in a while or you'll wake up one day and find yourself to be a bitter old woman... you have to let people in." Moira almost begged._

"_You let Father in. He hurt you." Willow whispered, smirking. Moira's eyes lit up in anger._

"_Yes, I let your father in, he left me, and I got stuck with you." Moira said, a muscle in her left cheek twitching a little. No response from Willow. "Don't you have anything to say to that? Aren't you angry?"_

"_No." She said in that still dull toned voice._

"_You can't tell me that didn't hurt you." Moira said, her eyes betraying the hurt she was feeling._

"_Yes I can; it didn't." Willow seemed to be mocking her, and Moira's brow crinkled and she frowned._

"_How can you just turn off your emotions like that? How can you let what people say just... disappear?"_

"_It's easy. I just don't care. It really doesn't matter." Willow walked towards the forest but stopped dead in her tracks when her mother began to yell at her from across the way._

"_It'll be your downfall, Willow! Apathy will kill you! It'll suck the life right out of you, leaving you an empty, soulless shell! To _live_ is to feel! You will die knowing nothing of life, and you'll regret it! You'll wish you had died young rather than feel that pain!" Willow whirled around dangerously, and Harry could sense her anger, though Moira could not._

"_I am an observer. To observe doesn't take emotion. The more you let emotions out, the more they get in the way of observing. I take in the world with every breath and sigh I make while you..." Willow laughed darkly. "**You** never stop to record it all in your head. You forget all of the simple moments in life, only remembering the times when you felt extremely emotional. Rage, grief, pain, sorrow, pure happiness... Love. Hatred. Those things get in the way of seeing how beautiful and ugly things can be." Moira's gaze seemed hollow, and she couldn't hide that deadened look in her eyes. She seemed haunted, and what she said next nearly tore Harry apart._

"_If being an observer means to never experience any of those emotions, I wish you dead right now, where you stand. To keep you alive and live in the torment of never experiencing emotion is only something I would wish on my enemies." Her voice was low and harsh, anger reflecting in her eyes and she blinked away tears. Harry was stunned that any mother would say that to a child as deeply troubled as Willow was. Willow's rage finally broke loose, her mask breaking instantaneously._

"_What good is love when it leaves you with horrid, wretched things like me?" She spat out. Harry could feel her mind radiating hatred in strong waves, and he shuddered. "Apathy is going to save me from the hell you're living in! Ren has blinded you with his sweet words. Love does not, and will not, ever exist." Willow turned to walk away again, furious._

"_Your father left for a reason, not because he stopped loving me!" Moira yelled out, her tone desperate, her eyes nearly defeated. Willow shook her head and smiled victoriously, then reducing her grin to a smirk bad enough to rival Malfoy's._

"_Love does not exist; get over it." Willow said cruelly. Her mother's eyes glittered in tears as they streamed down her face, and Harry saw the look in her eyes; hatred. She could no longer stand Willow, and he could tell that she would not put up with her much longer, let alone love her. He could almost hear her thinking, _Hey, how can I lose a love from her I never had?

"_Your words are poison to me." Moira said, her voice low and filled with tears and anger, and Willow ran into the woods, tears streaming down her worn down face. Harry followed, feeling sick to his stomach. What would his life have been like, were his parents alive? He didn't think either of them would ever let their relationship with their son ever get that bad._

"_I hate you." Willow whispered as she slumped up against her tree. "But even more than I hate you or you hate me, I will always, _always_, hate myself more." She dissolved into bitter tears and hugged her knees to her chest. "Why can't there be just one person who'll love me?" She cried out. "Why can't someone just prove me wrong? Everyone who could have ever loved me either left or hates me! I'm sorry I'm so bitter, I'm sorry I'm so angry! I'm sorry for everything!" At that, she stood up slowly and walked towards the edge of her small cliff. She turned, not facing the sunset, and spread her arms wide with her eyes closed. Just as she fell back, _FLASH.

_--Her mother teacher her to play the guitar—_

_--A boy tugging cruelly on a lock of her long, luxurious black hair—_

_--People backing away from her on the streets—_

_--Another night spent sobbing at her secret place—_

_--And another—_

_--And another—_

_--And another—_

_--And another—_

_--And...another—_

Harry was jerked back into reality with a sudden jolt. He was shaking and sweating all over, watching a truly depressing childhood of a girl who didn't deserve it. Her attitude was cold due to the way she was treated; how else was she expected to survive? Willow had the right to be apathetic, and not just because it was what she wanted, it's because that's what she _needed_ at the time. With the treatment she received from the people of her town and her horrific experience with her werewolf father, who wants to wear their emotions out on their sleeve for the world to see? It was a defense mechanism, that was all. Maybe... maybe one day, Harry could actually meet Willow. Face to face. Maybe... maybe he could break down that wall and _he_ could be the one to love her, to show her what exactly love is, to prove its existance to her.

Harry mentally slapped himself. What was he thinking? He'd never spoken a single word to this girl in his entire life, and he was already thinking about making her fall in love with him?

"_You like her!"_ Ron's voice echoed in his head, along with Hermione and Ginny's giggles and their own comments. Harry sighed and sat down, still covered by his invisibility cloak, absently listening to the teacher lecture about the Revolutionary War.

"Hey guys, the 'Weeping Willow' is actually _weeping_!" One boy whispered loudly, and he and his other classmates snickered loudly. Harry looked up to see Willow just burying her face in her desk, shaking with slow and uneven sobs. When they all laughed harder, the teacher stopped talking and her face purpled.

"Now really!" She yelled, exasperatedly as the laughter grew louder. Harry remembered this kind of torment in his own muggle schooling from his own classmates. Willow stood up quickly, her books falling out of her backpack, and she just left them there. Without hesitation, she took off, running out of the classroom. Harry hurried to follow her, her teacher's indignant yells and laughter following them. When Harry finally caught up to Willow, her face was bright red and her eyes were filled with tears. She broke the silence in the hall with her sobs, her face so contorted in misery, that Harry felt his heart rip. She slowly slid down the wall and sat on the floor, her gasping breaths, tears, and near convulsions racking her body. She was breathing raggedly, and though Harry knew it was a bad idea (not to mention, forbidden and dangerous), Harry sat down next to her and slipped his arm around her. Her breathing nearly stopped as she looked up and saw nothing, but felt someone.

"Who's there?" She said softly, her voice wavering in fear.

"I'm here to watch over you." Harry whispered softly in her ear. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tightened his hold around her waist.

"Angel?" She asked. Harry did not reply, but pulled her into his lap, murmuring soothing words and holding her to his chest as she cried. "May I see you, my angel?" She asked him softly. Harry sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry, my lovely, but I cannot show you my face." Harry was feeling bold in his disguise, and he had no problem at all holding her and talking to her this way. Disguise was—as he found out—liberating, and it gave him the freedom to do and say things he _never_ could have done without the disguise. When she sighed sadly, Harry knew immediately what was on her mind. "I know; it's unfair that the first person to hold you is someone who can't even show themselves. One day I will show you my face, sweet-ling. One day." Harry couldn't believe that he had just called her 'sweet-ling'. That's the kind of thing you say in the movies, not real life! He expected her to think of it as a pick-up line and walk away from him, rolling her eyes. When she didn't, he relaxed even more and brought her closer to him, nearly cradling her. Harry sighed happily. Her head was resting in the hollow between his neck and shoulder; even Willow noticed how perfectly they seemed to fit together.

"When will you hold me again?" She asked.

"I hold you every night and every time you cry. When sadness or anger takes hold of your body, I watch over you, I take care of you, and I hold you." He whispered softly, his invisible lips brushing her ear lightly. Her breath stopped there for a moment, but it was followed with a shiver of pleasure, and a small sound escaped her lips.

"Will you take me home?" She asked him hopefully. "Will you watch over me?"

"Yes, but you will not remember me in a few moments." Harry said sadly.

"What do you mean--" Harry flicked his wand.

"Obliviate." He said, sadly. He set her on the ground, found the memory, and erased it. When she was coming to again, and murmured, "Stupefy." He caught her in his arms and carried her outside to Hagrid. Hagrid looked genuinely shocked.

"What did you do to 'er, Harry?" He asked, confused and a little angry. Harry shifted uncomfortably and removed the disillusionment spell.

"She knew my smell; I had to erase that bit of her memory. In class, she had a bad run-in with her classmates and ran out of the classroom, crying. So, I stupefied her and carried her here." Harry tried to pass her over to Hagrid, but he shook his head at him.

"You got yourself into this mess, you carry 'er home." Hagrid said, almost irritably. Harry had never heard Hagrid use that tone before, and stiffened slightly, hurt. Hagrid saw the look on his face and quickly apologized. "It's the mission," He growled. "It's getting more an' more dangerous each day, and the las' thing we need is her knowing that we're here. What if she were ter raise some kind of alarm? The Death Eaters could find her so fast, it would make our heads spin." Harry nodded reluctantly and accepted the apology. So, they began their long trek up the mountain and through to her secret spot. They laid her out next to the large oak tree and hid.

"Enervate." Harry whispered, pointing his wand at her. She woke with a start.

Harry hoped that the next few months would not be as stressful as this one visit had been.


End file.
